


full moon, perfect circle, I end where you start

by echoes_of_realities



Series: time passes, in love and in seasons [4]
Category: Glee
Genre: Canon Divergence, F/F, Fluff, Spring, basically a fix-it fic for season 3 tbh, i.e. brittany actually gets dialogue and a storyline and graduates because the glee writers suck, while all the other fics from this series were canon compliant this one definitely isn't lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-04-08 02:42:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19098130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echoes_of_realities/pseuds/echoes_of_realities
Summary: Spring comes and goes in the quiet moments. It comes and goes in the quiet moments of time passing between new petals unfurling toward the sun and kisses that taste of every kiss before and every kiss to come, where they finally cast aside every lingering doubt and fear and worry and face the world with the same bravery they begun summer and autumn and winter with. It comes and goes like the snow melting into new growth as branches grow and tangle together in the same way their roots already have.It’s at the start of spring that Santana kisses Brittany.It’s at the end of spring that Brittany kisses Santana.





	full moon, perfect circle, I end where you start

**Author's Note:**

> This is where this series diverges the most from canon because someone’s gotta capitalize on all the wasted potential of s3, so it might as well be me. And because of that, Saturday Night Glee-ver just doesn’t exist in this universe lol.
> 
> Also, I have no desire to search up college application processes/SAT/ACT stuff for the states considering I just finished my degree and I Do Not want to think about school rn lmao, so if you’re American and you go “huh??” at something relating to that, I’m sorry, I’m just a confused Canadian lmao. We don’t have anything similar to SAT/ACT here, it’s usually you apply for university/college in November of your senior year and get conditional acceptance by February that means “pass your classes and you’re in” so I don’t even know?? I took diplomas—which are our grade 12 tests—but they aren’t really like SAT/ACTs at all so?? Just suspend disbelief for that lmao.
> 
> (Lowkey I have a whole timeline to explain why Brittany could have gotten her acceptance in the winter seasons fic but only get her SAT scores back now, which involved looking up NYC university application deadlines, the dates of the 2012 SATs, and the time SAT scores could be delayed if they were flagged. It was Very involved and took like an hour of research for like three sentences in this fic LOL.)
> 
> Also as far as I can tell the closest Six Flags to Lima is like a 5 hour drive away? So I dunno either these teenagers spent 10 hours out of the day driving there and back just for Senior Ditch Day, or Glee is just being a Big Dumb like usual lmao. Unless they went to the one in Columbus and also back in time six years cause that, uh, you know, closed in 2006 so lmao smh @Glee like usual. Love when show creators don’t know how to google stuff lol.
> 
> Title and excerpts from “Favourite” by Shane Koyczan

_“When I play favourites, you always win._

_Champion of my now and every moment after, you, are my favourite._

_Since the moment we met._

_Since the instant your welcome invasion first set foot in the unclaimed territory of my heart._

_Full moon, perfect circle, I end where you start._

_You, are my favourite.”_

* * *

Spring is the balmy nights and emerging freckles like tiny drops of sunshine rain, and it’s the scent of petrichor clinging to hair like midnight that tumbles through the open window with a flurry of unfurling soft green. It’s stargazing in the damp grass with the past and present and future caught in inky shadows, and it’s new growth stretching towards the pale sunlight that turns ash blonde to sunflower gold. It’s the silver and red congratulations springing up in the hallways of the school, and it’s fingers tangling below flower circled wrists under harsh gymnasium lights. It’s finding new memories in old songs like longing in reverse, and it’s days growing as long as grass in the shadow of heads bent together, the complicated turning simple as the smallest things becoming everything.

Spring is the time when they stop looking over their shoulders, and when they start looking into the future with the knowledge that it’s finally within reach. Spring is when they feel their souls twining even closer together. Spring is the time for counting new petals the same way they count the breaths between laughter, with the very same bravery they begun summer and autumn and winter with, branches growing and tangling together in the same way their roots already have. 

It’s at the start of spring that Santana kisses Brittany.

* * *

Brittany convinces Santana to go stargazing with her on the first warm night of spring—though, to be honest, Santana doesn’t take all that much convincing. They wear their rain jackets even though the night air is clear and still, to protect their backs from the dew-damp grass, sprawling on a blanket that quickly grows damp. Santana’s mumbled complaints at the wet chill soaking the blanket causes Brittany to shoot her an _I told you so_ look, because Santana insisted they didn’t need rain jackets since they had the blanket; Santana just sticks her tongue out and haughtily ignores Brittany until she pins Santana to the ground with tickles and kisses.

Santana’s pretty sure that laying in the grass and stargazing in a field by the train tracks is, like, the most stereotypical small town date idea ever, but she can’t really find it in herself to care, not when Brittany is curled against her side, sleepy and warm against the sharp spring air. Their curfews are lifted for once, after almost a week of begging their parents; with a crazy pileup of test and assignment deadlines at the midpoint of the semester, and the stupidly high number of hours they’ve both put in to studying and rehearsing for Nationals, their parents collectively decided that the two girls could use a break. Both of them have been putting more hours into studying than a lot of their friends, because they’re both so desperate to maintain their conditional acceptance and guarantee their escape from small town Ohio to the spots waiting for in New York.

Brittany shifts against her as if she can sense Santana’s thoughts straying to exams and university and stress, all things they decided to stop thinking about, just for tonight. Santana grins and turns her head to snuggle further into Brittany’s embrace, nimble fingers dancing along Santana’s jean covered hip, lazily drawing patterns with gentle, swooping lines; first hearts and then stars, their names and then what Santana thinks might be a cat. Santana sighs and nuzzles into Brittany’s neck as her soft, lilting voice points out constellations and recites everything she knows about the stories behind them, Greek and then Roman and then the ones her dad made up for her when they went camping years ago.

“It’s probably almost midnight,” Brittany suddenly whispers, her minty breath from the gum she’d been chewing earlier fanning across Santana’s face, “We’ll have to head home soon.”

“Do we have to?” Santana pouts. She knows she shouldn’t risk her mom’s wrath by staying out past their extended curfews, but she has absolutely no inclination to move from Brittany’s warm embrace.

Brittany smiles and kisses Santana on the nose, waiting until her face twists up in the adorable scrunched expression that Brittany so loves. “We could just stay here all night, wait until the next train and hop on it.”

Santana hums and nuzzles their noses together. “How long would we ride it?”

“Until the end of the line,” Brittany whispers, kissing Santana languidly.

Santana sighs and rolls Brittany onto her back, their jackets scratching together as she settles over her girlfriend. Brittany slips one hand under the hem of Santana’s jacket and shirt, her other combing gently through dark waves of hair. Santana melts fully into Brittany’s body, feeling like she’s sinking right down to Brittany’s essence, like their souls are twining together, twisting and moulding into each other until they’re inseparable. 

Santana wonders if they were ever even two separate souls, because she knows with every part of her that wherever Brittany’s soul was before this life, hers was there too.

“Your phone’s ringing,” Brittany mumbles against her lips, startling Santana a little, who was so lost in kissing Brittany that the rest of the world fell away.

“Huh?” she gasps as her lips slide from Brittany’s.

Brittany giggles and strokes her hands along Santana’s back, tugging Santana’s ringing phone from her back pocket. “Your phone,” she repeats teasingly as she presents it to Santana, “ringing.”

Santana rolls her eyes, rolling slightly off of Brittany so she can balance on one elbow as she takes her phone. “Hello?” she greets, rolling her eyes at Brittany’s wide smirk as she reaches up to wipe smudged lipgloss from Santana’s chin.

“ _Santana Maria Lopez, do you have_ any _idea what time it is?_ ”

Santana winces and pulls her phone away from her ear, checking the time and cursing under her breath. It’s not her fault that she always loses track of time when Brittany’s lips are on hers. “Sorry, we just lost track of time.”

“ _Don’t_ sorry _me, young lady,_ ” her mom snaps, and Santana winces again, knowing her and Brittany are both in deep trouble. “ _It’s almost one in the morning. The Pierces have been calling me because Brittany wasn’t answering her phone either. We thought—_ ” Her mom cuts herself off abruptly, breathing in sharply. Santana’s stomach churns with guilt, knowing exactly what their parents were probably thinking; her mom had been working the day Quinn was brought in, and—after having to treat Quinn in the trauma room, her mangled body barely recognizable from the girl Maribel knew so well from years of sleepovers and homework sessions and Cheer competitions—ended up having to restrain and try to comfort an inconsolable Judy Fabray.

“I’m really sorry, mamí,” she says quietly, “We didn’t mean to scare you guys.” Brittany’s eyebrows scrunch together as she dances her fingers along Santana’s thigh, her lips parted slightly as she studies Santana’s face, trying to read Maribel’s words from her girlfriend’s expression.

Her mom takes a shaky breath, and Santana can practically hear the tension bleed out of her voice. “ _It’s alright,_ mija, _I was probably over-reacting a little bit._ ”

“Mamí—”

“ _I’ll call the Pierces and let them know Brittany will be home soon,_ ” her mom interrupts brusquely, “ _See you soon_.”

Santana smiles a little when her mom hangs up; she’s about as good at dealing with complicated feelings as Santana is, and she knows the best thing right now is to give her mom some space to unravel her emotions by herself.

“What’s going on?” Brittany asks as soon as Santana drops her phone to the blanket beside them.

“It’s almost an hour past our curfew,” Santana explains, using her free hand to play with the tips of Brittany’s soft hair, nearly silver in the moonlight. “They were worried because neither of us were answering our phones and— Well, they thought—”

“Quinn,” Brittany realizes quietly.

“Yeah.” They’re both silent for a long moment, clutching at each other to soothe the thick tension filling the air between them. The entire glee club was forced to acknowledge their own fragility the week of Regionals, sitting in too loud silence in their wedding outfits and trying to process words like _Quinn_ and _T-boned_ and _ambulance_ and _emergency surgery_ and somehow swallow their own fears; it hit Santana and Brittany the hardest, both of them choking on guilt for letting their friendship with Quinn fall to the wayside in the past couple years and wondering if they’d even get the chance to make it up, suddenly realizing how much time they had lost the moment they almost lost Quinn. “Have you heard from her?” she asks quietly.

Brittany stiffens below Santana, her hand flattening against Santana’s hip as if she’s reassuring herself that Santana’s still there, warm and solid and _alive_. “Not since she—” Brittany clears her throat, her pulse throbbing where Santana’s forehead is pressed against her neck, “Not since she got home.”

“We should go see her, if she’s up for it,” Santana says quietly.

“I wouldn’t even know what to say,” Brittany whispers.

Santana thinks for a long moment before she finally shakes her head. “Me neither, but she probably just wants to feel normal after everything.”

“Probably,” Brittany agrees, both of them weighted down by the almost oppressive worry and fear in the air from the topic. She pulls Santana closer to her until their foreheads are pressed together, their bodies keeping them warm. They just breathe together in silence for long moments, eyes tracing faces they know better than their own in the silvery moonlight, filling in features obscured by shadows from memory. “We should get going,” Brittany finally whispers.

Santana meets her eyes, shades of midnight blue in the dark night, reflecting back the entire universe spread above them. Her breath catches somewhere in her chest, her heart pounding all the way down to the fingertips mapping Brittany’s neck.

Sometimes, when she catches those blue eyes, she forgets how to breathe, like she’s falling in love all over again.

She ducks down and quickly kisses Brittany, sweet and fierce and desperate all at once. Brittany makes a muffled sound of surprise into Santana’s mouth before her lips soften and press back to Santana’s, her hands slipping back under Santana’s jacket and shirt to anchor on warm skin.

Eventually, they manage to untangle from each other, laughing and teasing as they fold up the, now damp, patchwork blanket—that’s one of the things that Santana adores so much about being in love with her best friend, that they can so easily flip from serious to goofy like it’s nothing. As Brittany playfully tosses the blanket at her head before running away giggling, she can’t help but think how boring it must be to not be best friends with your soulmate.

She manages to catch the blanket before it unravels, shouting in faux-anger at Brittany’s retreating back before she takes off after her girlfriend. Santana’s house is closest to the train tracks, so Brittany parked her car there before they both decided to just walk down to the field. It’s the same field they used to play make-believe in when they were younger, back when they were the neighbourhood terrors, running around and playing games from sunup to sundown. 

To be completely honest, not much has changed since then; sure, the imaginary monsters that they used to fight have taken on new, very real forms, but Brittany’s hand is still clasped with hers, which is all Santana really needs to survive.

She catches up to Brittany a couple feet from the sidewalk—probably only because Brittany let her because, as fit as Santana is, she is nowhere near the athlete that Brittany is—and smacks her with the folded blanket.

“You jerk!” she growls, trying and failing to bite back her smile.

Brittany just grins and wraps her arms around Santana’s waist, trapping the blanket between their chests, and swinging her up and around until Santana’s shrieking and dizzy with carefree love. Lima is nearly silent at night, the occasional muffled dog barking inside a house or car speeding down an empty street or a catfight in an alley the only thing to break the silence, and it feels like they’re the only two people in the world. The stars stretch above them, sparks of brilliance caught in an inky canvas, blocked out only by the trees slowly starting to bud above them instead of the usual golden glow of streetlights lining the neighbourhood.

Santana’s squirming finally becomes too much for Brittany to contain, and she lets her girlfriend slide back down to earth, keeping her arms looped around Santana’s waist and pressing their foreheads together, keeping the blanket trapped a little awkwardly between them. “I love you,” Brittany says easily, and Santana can feel her girlfriend’s exhilarated smile where the peaks of Brittany’s cheeks brush hers. She wishes it was light enough for her to see the freckles slowly emerging across Brittany’s cheeks and nose as the winter sun fades to pale spring, so she can count them without needing to wait for a clear night to trace constellations.

A passing car illuminates Brittany in a flash of gold before her features fade back into the silver of moonlight. “I love you too,” she finally answers, knowing her brief distraction and ensuing hesitation hadn’t worried Brittany at all based on the unwavering affection in blue eyes.

Brittany’s grin widens, making it a little difficult to fit their lips together as she ducks forward to kiss Santana, their noses nuzzled together doing most of the work for the kiss since their mouths are otherwise occupied with smiling. Something deep in Santana’s chest flutters widely, something that used to terrify her but now reminds her that she’s alive and happier than she could ever begin to describe.

“We should really get going,” Santana mumbles against Brittany’s lips, because as much as she’d like to spend the rest of the night kissing Brittany right here, she knows her mom would probably kill her.

“Killjoy,” Brittany whispers as she pulls back, her pout so adorable that Santana just has to tug her back down to kiss her again.

It takes some convincing and debate inside her own head before she manages to pull away from Brittany, taking a step away before they get caught up in each other again. Brittany catches the blanket before it falls from between them, reaching out with her free hand to, once again, clean the lipgloss from Santana’s lips and chin. Santana gently kisses Brittany’s fingers as they wipe her mouth, and Brittany makes that soft expression that Santana knows means she’s melting, just a little, on the inside and makes Santana feel like just about the best thing in the entire world.

Brittany takes Santana’s hand in hers, swinging their arms a little as they head down the sidewalk towards the golden circles of light cast by the street-lamps. Santana smiles at the ground, listening to Brittany talk about anything and everything and feeling Brittany’s warm palm against hers throughout her entire body. Brittany tugs them closer together after a moment of amusedly swinging their arms in bigger and bigger arcs, until Santana’s shorter arm reaches its limit and she groans. Brittany ducks down to press an absentminded kiss to Santana’s temple as she continues to narrate Lord Tubbington’s latest antics. A thrill goes through Santana’s chest, a lightning arc of pure love and joy at how normal affection is between them now—a year ago and Santana would have fled at even the hint of something more between them, but now it’s as easy as breathing.

The walk to the Lopez house passes quicker than either of them would like, but they both know they’re in trouble and probably shouldn’t push it. Santana can’t actually see her mom, but the living room light is on, glowing softly through the curtains, and there’s a person shaped shadow that suddenly disappears from the window as they slow to a walk in front of Brittany’s car. Brittany blocks Santana’s view of her house as she steps in front of her, which is probably for the best because, no matter how much she knows her mom adores Brittany, it still feels a little weird to kiss her girlfriend goodbye in front of the woman who raised her.

Brittany tosses the blanket on the hood of her car so both her hands are free, settling them on Santana’s hips and letting her thumbs dip teasingly below Santana’s jeans. There’s a promise hidden in Brittany’s grin, the corners of her lips turning up into more smirk than smile.

“My mom’s probably watching us right now,” Santana idly reminds her girlfriend.

Brittany grins wolfishly, ducking down in a way that probably looks innocent to anyone watching, but the glint in those blue eyes almost makes Santana’s knees buckle. “Good thing she’ll only be able see my back then,” Brittany murmurs, before kissing Santana hot and wet and demanding, leaving her unsteady and wanting when they part. “I better head home now,” Brittany says, and Santana can’t even wipe the smug look off her girlfriend’s face because she’s a little too dizzy to gather her thoughts.

“Rude,” she manages, “Leaving me high and dry like that.”

Brittany’s smug smirk just widens as she leans forward for another kiss. “I don’t think dry is the problem,” she mutters as she pulls back.

“Get out of here, you ass,” Santana retorts with a faux-annoyed eye roll as she pushes her girlfriend towards her car, thankful that the dark hides her blush even though she knows Brittany can definitely hear it in her voice.

Brittany makes obnoxious kissing noises as she grabs the blanket off the hood of her car and rounds it to the driver’s side. She opens the door and tosses the blanket into the passenger seat, her smirk softening into an almost shy smile as she looks at her girlfriend over the hood of her car. “Goodnight, Santana,” she says quietly, “Love you.”

Santana’s faux-annoyance immediately sweetens as she returns the smile, admiring the way Brittany somehow glows through the dark, silver and gold in the faint nighttime lights. “Love you too, Britt-Britt. Text me when you get home.”

Brittany quickly promises that she will as she ducks into her car, blowing Santana a kiss as she pulls away from the curb. Santana stands there for a long moment, watching as Brittany’s taillights glow through the dark like the last embers of a fire before they’re extinguished as she turns the corner. A door opening behind her startles her into action, internally wincing as she braces for the lecture she knows she’s going to get as soon as she walks up the door.

“You can stand there as long as you want, Santana, but you’re still in deep trouble,” her mom calls across the yard.

Santana sighs and glances longingly at the spot where Brittany’s car disappeared, wishing her girlfriend would come back and kidnap her, taking her to anywhere that’s far away from Lima and her mom’s irritation for an indiscriminate amount of time; though, knowing her mom, she’d probably still be waiting with her lecture ready no matter if it took two weeks or two years for Santana to walk in the front door.

After a long talking to about what her mom will do to her the next time she ignores her calls or breaks her curfew, and a long, fierce hug that cements the idea that her mom was more scared than angry tonight—something that also cements the fact that Santana is definitely her mother’s daughter—she finally sends Santana off to bed. Santana sighs in dramatic relief, earning an unimpressed look from her mom that is tempered only by the slight glow of amusement in her dark eyes. She says goodnight as she heads for the basement, more than ready to collapse into her warm bed; she barely felt the chill in the spring air whiles she was with Brittany, but now that she doesn’t have a human furnace to cuddle up to, there’s a definite dampness to her clothes that chills her down to the bone.

“ _Mija_ ,” her mom calls as she heads for the basement. Santana pauses at the top of the stairs, glancing back at her mom and finding her with that same cat-that-ate-the-canary smirk that Santana inherited, and she already knows she’s screwed. “Your lipgloss is a little,” her mom gestures to her own mouth and chin to demonstrate, “messed up.”

Santana’s cheeks burn hotly as she tries her best to act nonchalant, and not like her mom just caught her with her girlfriend’s lipgloss smudged incriminatingly across her face. “Oh,” she says lamely, desperately searching for an excuse, “I must have smudged it on your shoulder when you hugged me.”

“Of course,” her mom says in an infuriatingly placating way as she heads for her own room. Santana bobs her head and ignores the itch in her hand to wipe the lipgloss away, knowing it would only make it worse. “Goodnight, _mija_.” 

“Goodnight,” Santana says blankly, still frozen to the spot.

“By the way,” her mom says casually as she passes, “That colour looks much better on Brittany.”

Santana groans, her cheeks somehow burning even more fiercely, and listens to her mom’s laughter as she descends the stairs.

Brittany texts her that she’s home as soon as Santana reaches her bed, throwing herself face down on it and uselessly willing away her blush. She doesn’t even read Brittany’s text, just turns her face enough to see the screen and awkwardly texts with one hand.

_You forgot your lipgloss on my face and now my mom’s never going to let me forget it. You are in so much trouble next time we’re alone, Pierce._

Brittany’s only response is a winky face, and Santana just laughs, smiling giddily into her bedspread as she, impossibly, falls further in love.

* * *

March is snow covered grass and the warming sun, the smell of decay in the air from the snow mould and old leaves slowing being replaced by the damp newness of the first rain; it’s mind-numbing fear as the first whispers of the wreckage on the highway reach them, it’s clinging to every sign of life when there’s nothing else to do but cry, and it’s the comfort of warm skin on warm skin under the inky darkness and sparkling stars that offers the sweetest form of reassurance as breaths collide with small puffs of white mist in the chilly night air.

* * *

Santana’s knees are still a little weak almost half an hour after the rollercoaster, her insides trembling like they do after kissing Brittany for hours, except much less awesome because the rollercoaster did not involve any sweet lady kisses.

Brittany’s fingers are tangled with hers as she drags them around the amusement park, carefree and laughing as they tag along with different friends on different rides. By the time lunch hits, most of them have collectively been on every ride in the park and are starting on their second time through the lines. Brittany wants to go on the teacups again, and she manages to convince Santana to join her with the promise that she won’t wildly spin it like she did last time.

Santana sighs and concedes, mollified with a quick kiss as they stand in line by themselves since no one else was crazy enough to go back on the teacups with Brittany because, despite her promises, she’s been purposeful in her wildly spinning of teacups, like she’s trying to make people nauseous. Without the energizing presence of their friends, Brittany’s quiet as they stand beside each other, their fingers loosely tangled by their sides.

Santana knows Brittany has something on her mind, because she’s had this distant look in her eyes since Tuesday, but Santana doesn’t want to push her; mostly, she’s a tiny bit afraid of what has been on Brittany’s mind. It seems like every other day there’s some sort of melodramatic relationship drama going on in their grade and in the glee club, and as much as Santana has complete faith in their relationship, she’s always kind of morbidly expecting the universe to realize she’s too happy and take everything away.

It’s pretty irrational, she knows, and Brittany’s always really good at soothing her dumb fears, but Brittany is the source of those dumb fears this time. She barely even seems to notice that she has kind of really been freaking Santana out because she’s been so lost in her own mind.

She shakes her head and shoves her worries to the back of her mind as they get closer to the front of the line, trying to draw Brittany back to her by fiddling with her fingers, pressing down on her knuckles like keys of a piano, swinging their clasped hands back and forth and tickling at her wrist.

Brittany blinks and meets Santana’s eyes, the distant look fading as it’s replaced by the playful expression she’s had for most of the day. Santana grins, glad to see Brittany step back out of her mind, and they step up to the front of the line. She eyes Brittany and then the teacups suspiciously, knowing how likely it is that Brittany will spin them far too fast. “You remember your promise, right?” she checks.

Brittany rocks back and forth on her heels as the ride attendant motions them towards an empty teacup. “I never promised that,” she says innocently, “You told me to promise that and I said _uh-huh_.”

“I knew that would bite me in the ass,” Santana mutters as they slide into the teacup.

“Aww,” Brittany smiles, lifting her arm and tugging Santana into her side, “I won’t make you _too_ sick.”

“You better not ‘cause you already did that earlier.” Despite the whine in Santana’s voice, she quickly snuggles closer to Brittany, nuzzling up against her neck and shoulder and slinging an arm across Brittany’s stomach. Mostly, she just wants to cuddle with her girlfriend, but hugging Brittany like this has the added benefit of keeping Brittany relatively restrained and unable to spin them around too crazily.

Brittany quickly kisses the top of Santana’s head, giggling against her hair. “I’m sorry you were a casualty of my revenge, babe,” she soothes. The ride starts to move in large circles, and Brittany reaches up to the table-like-thingy in the middle to start lazily spinning them in the opposite direction.

“I’ve never seen Finn turn so many different shades of green,” Santana admits with a wide smirk.

Brittany snorts, and Santana doesn’t even need to look at her to know she’s rolling her eyes. “Not enough shades, clearly,” she says haughtily.

Santana just grins and snuggles closer to Brittany. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?” With a quick flick of of wrist, Brittany sends them spinning wildly, causing Santana to shriek at the sudden movement and clutch at Brittany, muffling her laughter against the collar of Brittany’s letterman jacket. “But I still love you,” Santana adds. 

Brittany takes her hand off the table and uses it to tug Santana even closer to her, letting their teacup slow to an almost stop. “You better,” she teases.

Santana playfully pinches Brittany’s stomach, smiling as Brittany giggles and pretending she’s not as charmed by Brittany as she is. They spend the rest of the ride aimlessly chatting and cuddling, taking a small breather from rushing around the amusement park with the glee club. As they get off the ride, they decide to meet up with their friends for a snack before they continue on with rides; Santana quickly texts Mercedes to find out where the rest glee club is hiding out. Brittany tugs them along for a couple minutes until Santana finally looks up and realizes they’re heading in the wrong direction.

Santana giggles and tugs Brittany to a stop. “The food stands are the other way,” she says.

Brittany glances around and shrugs, the tips of her ears pinking. “I thought we could take the scenic route,” she deflects.

Santana laughs at her embarrassed sheepishness, bouncing up on her toes to quickly peck Brittany on the lips. “S’okay, gives us more alone time away from the divas,” she promises comfortingly; Brittany is adorable, despite the fact that she lacks even the slightest sense of direction.

Brittany’s embarrassment eases as they turn to head back the way they came, weaving around giggling children and snickering teenagers and bored adults until they reach a less busy path. Santana texts Mercedes to let her know they’re on their way, and by the time she slides her phone back into her pocket, Brittany has fallen back into her own mind again. She’s chewing on her lip, her eyes scanning the path they’re walking along; Santana’s stomach clenches uncomfortably because she knows that look—it means that Brittany is ready to reveal what ever it is that’s been bothering her lately.

“Hey, Santana,” Brittany says suddenly, her voice small and quiet, dragging her feet across the path, “Can I talk to you about something?”

Santana frowns at Brittany’s uncharacteristic shyness, ducking her head to try and meet blue eyes. Brittany avoids her gaze completely, and something deep in Santana’s chest twists painfully, all her old fears instantly manifesting as her mind immediately goes to worst case scenario. “Yeah, of course,” she says thickly, “You can talk to me about anything, you know that.” Brittany only nods nervously and Santana tries to swallow the bile rising in her throat, bracing herself for Brittany to tell her that she’s dying or breaking up with her or moving away to join the circus or whatever other awful (and, admittedly, ridiculous) scenario that Santana’s fear-addled brain can come up with.

“I know I can,” Brittany promises, “it’s just—“ She cuts herself off and takes a deep breath, reaching for Santana’s hand. She leads them to a bench on the side of the path, half hidden in the shadow of the blooming shrubs and trees lining most of the walkways of the park. They both sit down, the scant few inches separating them feeling like a chasm to the demons whispering in Santana’s ear. Brittany tightens her fingers until they’re clutching Santana’s hand almost painfully, but she still doesn’t meet Santana’s eyes.

The tense silence quickly becomes too much for Santana and she angles her body towards Brittany so their knees press together, placing her other hand on top of their clasped ones and trying not to clutch at Brittany’s fingers too desperately. “Britt,” she says softly, “you’re kind of freaking me out.”

Brittany startles a little, finally meeting Santana’s eyes with wide, worried ones, before quickly dropping her gaze back to their tangled fingers in her lap. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to.” 

Santana swallows thickly and squeezes her hand. “What’s going on, Britt?” she whispers. 

Brittany clears her throat and shuffles her feet a little. “You know how I got called to the office the other day?” she finally asks. Santana just nods, a small part of her relaxing because this means that whatever it is that’s worrying Brittany isn’t their relationship like she feared—she _knew_ that her fears were completely irrational, but the larger part of her is still worried because that’s kind of how irrational fears work.

“Well, it wasn’t because of an issue with my school fees like I said,” Brittany finally continues. “It was— They were delayed for a while but they— They finally got my SAT scores back.”

She falls silent again and Santana scooches closer on the bench until their thighs are pressed comfortably together. Her fears about Brittany breaking up with her or something quickly get pushed to the back of her mind; she knows how hard Brittany studied for her exams, and she knows how worried Brittany was that she wouldn’t achieve the scores she needed to be fully accepted—the school she applied to accepts February testing for it’s applications, which meant she had more time to study, but also meant that there’s no second chances. Santana has the upmost belief in Brittany’s intelligence, but she also knows that test anxiety can strike at the most inopportune time, and Santana’s heart breaks at the uncertain look on her girlfriend’s face.

“What did they say, Britt?” she prompts gently. 

Brittany takes a deep breath and finally meets Santana’s eyes. “I got a 2340. And an almost perfect score on my math SAT.”

“You— You got— You what?” Santana stutters, Brittany’s words not quite processing through her earlier haze of worry. 

Brittany shifts uncomfortably, her eyes darting to the ground. “I got a near-perfect 2340 on my SAT,” she repeats. 

Santana’s limbs finally unfreeze from her shock and she launches herself at Brittany, landing practically in her lap and laughing right into her ear. “Oh my god,” she rambles around her smile, “Oh my god, Britt, that’s amazing! You’re so incredible. I’m _so_ proud of you! That’s so— You’re so— Oh my god, I love you so much.”

Brittany finally relaxes, sinking into Santana’s clinging embrace and burying her nose in Santana’s neck, letting out a breathless, relieved laugh. 

When Santana manages to compose herself and pull back, it’s only so she can kiss Brittany instead, far too deeply than she usually would in public, but her girlfriend’s a certified fucking genius who just blew the SAT out of the water, so she doesn’t really care. 

Brittany’s wide smile makes it hard to maintain the kiss, so Santana breaks it to scatter kisses all over Brittany’s face instead, clumsy and graceless because she’s so giddy with pride and excitement for her girlfriend.

“Oh my god,” she repeats against Brittany’s cheek, “That’s such amazing news, Brittany! You should have told me as soon as you found out so we could celebrate properly. I know it’s technically your turn because I did it last week but I get to plan the next date, okay? I gotta spoil you because you’re fucking incredible. Geez, why aren’t you shouting this from the rooftops?”

Brittany ducks her head a little, causing Santana to pull back just enough for her to see Brittany’s face. “I didn’t want you to treat me differently, ‘cause like Mr. Dunngan won’t stop calling on me in class now and it’s kind of scary,” Brittany admits sheepishly, “Or, like, think I cheated or something. That’s what a lot of the teachers thought.”

Santana shakes her head wordlessly, her smile splitting her face as she takes Brittany’s hands in hers, pulling them towards her so she can press a long kiss to each of Brittany’s palms. “You’re a genius, Britt-Britt,” she says surely, as easy as saying her own name, “I’ve always known that. It just took the school system a while to catch up.”

Brittany blushes all the way from the tips of her ears down to her neck; Santana knows that if she were to strip Brittany of her shirt, she’d be flushed down to her navel too. “Thank you,” she whispers.

Santana smiles and leans forward to press their foreheads together, nuzzling her nose against Brittany’s so that their lips just barely brush. “For what?”

Brittany’s eyes are the brightest shade of blue Santana’s ever seen, so much more beautiful than the spring sky above them, and Santana’s breath hitches at the pure love reflected back at her. “For believing in me,” Brittany murmurs. 

Santana shrugs helplessly and smiles more with her eyes than her lips. “I don’t know how to do anything else,” she says simply.

Brittany shakes her head a little before ducking forward and kissing her until they’re both breathless and glowing, only drawn apart by Santana’s phone dinging. Santana reluctantly pulls away to dig her phone out of her pocket, never straying too far from Brittany, absently rubbing her fingers along the back of Brittany’s neck as she checks her text messages. “Mercedes is wondering where we are, and why we aren’t saving our fellow Troubletone from the rest of the glee kids,” she relays with a grin.

Brittany chuckles and bounces up off the bench, tugging Santana up after her and seeming about a billion times lighter. “We better go rescue her so you’re not singing all by your lonesome come Nationals.”

Santana hums contemplatively as she lets Brittany drag her down the path. “It’d be nice to solo our entire number, but also I’m pretty sure Mercedes would come back and haunt me at the most inopportune moments.”

“Oh, one hundred percent,” Brittany agrees, throwing a smirk over her should that makes Santana feel bright on the inside, “And no way am I risking our privacy because Ghost-Mercedes wants revenge.”

Santana laughs and skips half a step to catch up with Brittany, falling in step with her instead of trailing behind. Brittany smiles at her and leans down to kiss her on the temple, only stumbling slightly, before they focus fully on navigating to the food stands.

The rest of the glee kids are scattered around a collection of three picnic tables, and Brittany and Santana wave at them in greeting before turning to scan the food stands. They choose the same place to save time, and Santana quickly steps up to pay for her and Brittany’s lunches before Brittany can even tug her wallet out from her jacket pocket. Brittany protests, but Santana just silences her with a quick kiss after she takes her change. Their food is ready quickly, and they head for the tables and plop down beside Mercedes, who rolls her eyes at them as Rachel launches into a soliloquy about how perfect Finn is for winning her stuffed toys or something— _again_ , because she had told them all this before the rollercoaster, and after the rollercoaster, and about seven other times. From the look on Mercedes face, Santana guesses that Rachel still hasn’t shut up about it.

Santana chews absently on her fries as she stares at Rachel, trying to figure out exactly how that much ego fits into such a dwarfish body.

“Hey, Mayor of Loserville,” Santana finally interrupts, “I know you’re a senile old crone suffering from Alzheimer’s and fashion from the ’70s, but that doesn’t mean the rest of us are. We heard you go on and on about this the first time.”

“Santana, I wouldn’t expect you to quite understand the depths of a love such as the one Finn and I share—”

“Imma stop you right there dwarf,” Santana interrupts again. Brittany’s hand finds her’s under the table, her fingers tickling approvingly over her inner wrist and causing an almost violent shiver to run down her spine. “I won’t even attempt to explain to you why aspiring to the love story of a skyscraper and a hobbit is the last thing in the universe I’d ever do, because I honestly could think of a billion better ways to waste my time. But while your giant Frankenteen was wasting precious braincells throwing rings onto bottle necks, my girlfriend was—as always—being a certified fucking genius.”

“What?”

Santana glances at Brittany to check that it’s alright for her to share the news, and despite the pink splotching along Brittany’s cheeks and obscuring her emerging freckles, she smiles shyly and nods. Santana beams at her before turning to the rest of the glee kids and immediately bragging about her brilliant girlfriend, pride glowing through her until she feels almost too full with it. Brittany’s fingers twine with hers, her blush deepening as their friends all crowd around them and congratulate Brittany on her score, her blue eyes sparkling at Santana the entire time, adoring and sweet and soft and soft and soft.

* * *

March comes and goes in the quiet moments, with sunny days and lettermen jackets that don’t hide tangled fingers like they used to, with days quickly counting down to end of school and the start of their lives, with friends laughing and shrieking in carefree amusement far away from the confines of school, with indescribable pride at the realization that a system which had only ever neglected was finally accepting, gratified in a way that could only be expressed by shouting from the rooftops, sweet and bright and overjoyed.

* * *

Brittany and Santana try to be on time for their weekly Troubletones dinner at Breadstix, they really do—it’s just, Brittany’s sister throws a slight meltdown as they are about to leave the Pierce’s, and Whitney has to enlist the help of her oldest daughter to try and calm the tantrum.

Brittany and Santana exchange a look as Brittany bends down to pick her sister up off the floor, her shoulders flexing as she hoists the munchkin up into her arms because her mom’s back has been bothering her lately. The two Pierce women carry the youngest one off to her room, her sobs echoing throughout the house and breaking Santana’s heart a little bit. She toes her shoes off and heads for the living room to hang out in the big armchair her and Brittany usually claim during movie night to wait for her girlfriend to finish calming the munchkin.

She doesn’t even realize Pierce is sitting on the couch until she’s flopped down into the chair and glances up to see him making funny faces at her. She startles a little before laughing; as much as him and Brittany are completely opposite in appearance, they are the exact same in all the ways it really counts, like their smiles and senses of humour and ability to make Santana laugh so hard her stomach hurts.

“She’s been having a lot of meltdowns lately,” Santana says, nodding towards the stairs as a particularly loud wail reaches them.

“It’s because Lord Tubbington has rejoined the gang again and is stealing all the ice cream in the house to pay off the mob after him,” Pierce says with a completely blank face. Santana snorts and grins at him, recognizing the sparkle in his eyes that his deadpan can’t quite hide. Pierce manages to keep his straight face for another moment before it softens into something more serious and a little sad. “We think she’s having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that you girls are going to be moving away soon. Every time Brittany mentions grad she gets that angry face Britt used to make when that one boy was bothering you two.”

“Yeah, well Puck was and still is a little bit—” Santana cuts herself off and remembers who she’s talking to, her cheeks warming a little. “Jerk. He’s a jerk.” Pierce gives Santana a slightly chiding look that says he knows what she was about to say, but that he agrees despite his parental duty to scold cursing. Santana grins sheepishly before her smile falters, bringing her legs up onto the chair and hugging them tightly. “She’s really having a hard time?”

Pierce sighs, his lips twitching into a poor attempt to smile. “I think we’re all having a hard time with the idea that you two are almost all grown up and off to college now.” Santana’s stomach drops a little, and it must show on her face because Pierce leans forward with an understanding expression, his dark eyes comforting and warm. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad, Santana. We’re all so proud of you and Britt. We’ll just miss you.”

Santana tightens her arms around her legs. “We’re gonna miss you guys too,” she says around the sudden lump in her throat. Pierce just smiles, his eyes drawn away from Santana as Brittany appears in the entryway of the living room.

“Mom said she could use your help,” Brittany explains, pointing up the stairs. The munchkin isn’t screaming or wailing anymore, but her tiny little sniffles still drift down the stairs.

Pierce chuckles and stands. “We’ve almost got a whole new system down for this,” he grins at his daughter. He ruffles Santana’s hair fondly as he passes—just like he has since she was half his height—and gives Brittany a one-armed hug, trying to discretely press some money for supper into Brittany’s hand before he ambles up the stairs.

Brittany calls her _thanks_ as she pockets the money, moving across the living room to stand in front of Santana with a sad smile. “The munchkin’s mad at me,” she says.

Santana drops her legs to the ground and wraps her arms around Brittany’s waist to tug her close, nuzzling her face into Brittany’s stomach and dropping a kiss to her bellybutton through the soft fabric of her shirt. “Your dad said it’s because she’s having a hard time about us graduating and moving away.”

Brittany threads her fingers through Santana’s dark hair, smiling softly down at her cuddly girlfriend. “I promised I’d call her every day, and that we would Skype every week too. She agreed on the condition that you’re also there when we Skype.”

Santana’s laughter is a little muffled by Brittany’s shirt, so she draws her head back to tip it up at Brittany, resting her chin on Brittany’s stomach instead. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Brittany’s smile softens and she ducks down to kiss Santana, feeling her love for her girlfriend grow about a billion times bigger because of the fact that she loves Brittany’s family as if it were her own; in a lot of ways, Brittany supposes it is. “I also promised her a movie night with the two of us this weekend. That calmed her down a little.”

“I’ll pick up the pizza and snacks,” Santana offers, and Brittany has to duck down to kiss Santana again because the love bubbling up inside her needs somewhere to go before she bursts with joy and adoration.

“We should really get going,” Brittany mumbles against Santana’s mouth, pulling away enough to speak but not enough to fully disconnect their lips, “Mercedes is probably ready to kill us.”

Santana laughs, the sound buzzing against Brittany’s lips and causing her to squirm from how it tickles. “I told her we were dealing with a meltdown of epic proportions, so she promised to order for us.”

“Dr. Pepper and sp—”

“And spaghetti with extra meatballs,” Santana interrupts with a chuckle, “I’ve had your order memorized since we were like twelve, Britt-Britt.”

Brittany beams and slips her hands under Santana’s upper arms to tug her up into her embrace, kissing her firmly and quickly in thanks. “Let’s go,” she murmurs, tugging Santana to the front door. They slip their shoes on and Brittany calls her _see you later_ s up to her parents, promising to be home before nine as they head out to Brittany’s car.

Lima is tiny, so it only takes five minutes to make it to Breadstix once they finally leave the Pierce’s house, their hands tangled on the console and singing at the top of their lungs the entire way.

Mercedes waves them over as soon as she spots them, sitting by herself on one side of the bench with three drinks on the table. Brittany and Santana quickly cross the restaurant and slide in across from her—Santana first, and then Brittany, so that their dominant arms won’t knock elbows while they eat. Brittany quickly gives the run down of what delayed them almost twenty minutes, and Mercedes makes sympathetic noises at the situation.

“I was older than your sister when my brother left for college but it was still hard,” Mercedes explains, “I mean, it was so weird because he had, you know, _always_ been there and then suddenly he was hours away. I imagine it’s harder for your sister because she’s still so young.”

“Yeah, I feel bad because she keeps pouting and sulking around the house but,” Brittany shrugs helplessly and glances at Santana, “We have to leave, you know? We can’t stay in this town.”

Mercedes expression hardens even as her eyes turn inward and sad. “I know. You two need to be somewhere where you won’t be looking over your damn shoulders every time you wanna hold hands.”

Santana shifts uncomfortably against Brittany’s side, her eyes casting around the restaurant. She doesn’t regret the fact that she’s able to hug and kiss her girlfriend in public now, Brittany knows that neither of them do. But because of the fact that they were so viciously outed instead of being able to control the narrative, there’s still a spark of fear that grips both of them whenever someone’s eyes linger a little too long on their clasped hands.

“I just wish my sister wasn’t so sad all the time,” Brittany continues, all three of them wanting to avoid bumming themselves out this early into dinner.

“It’ll get better,” Mercedes promises. “She probably won’t stop missing you, but she’ll get used to you not being there all the time. I cried a lot when my brother first left, but it got easier once I got busy with school and stuff.”

“I didn’t know having a sibling turned you into such a crybaby,” Santana teases.

Mercedes rolls her eyes and gently kicks Santana’s shin under the table. “You just don’t get it, girl. There’s nothing you wouldn’t do for them, but you’d also sell their soul for a single tater tot.”

“That’s ‘cause I’m an only child,” Santana replies drolly, a small smirk playing on her lips, “Of course I don’t get it.” 

“Yeah, we _know_ ,” Brittany and Mercedes say at the same time, teasing and amused.

“Rude,” Santana scowls, her frown twisting up into a smile as soon as she feels Brittany’s fingers slide against her palm.

Their waitress appears just then, glancing warily at Brittany and Santana as she sets their meals down in front of them. Mercedes thanks her as they quickly dig in, all of them starving after having an exhausting glee rehearsal right after school.

“I still can’t believe Mr. Schue doesn’t have _any_ songs picked out for Nationals,” Mercedes says suddenly, “Like, absolutely nothing prepared at all.”

Brittany swallows her bite of spaghetti and glances up at Mercedes. “We have it narrowed down to two songs for the Troubletones number, right?”

Santana nods, her fork bouncing a little with the movement and spilling her fettuccine back onto her plate, grumbling as she scoops it back up. “Yeah, but I think we’re leaning more towards the Lady Gaga one.” Mercedes nods her agreement, her mouth full. “The other two are good songs but,” Santana shrugs and finally manages to get a forkful of fettuccine to her mouth, “We weren’t really feeling the arrangements.”

Brittany’s fingers squeeze Santana’s in agreement. “That makes choreographing easier to be honest. Adele would have been awesome to do again, obviously, but _Edge of Glory_ has an easier beat to follow, especially for the other Troubletones who aren’t used to show choir choreography.”

“I swear to god, if Hips trips into me one more time Imma ‘bout to go all Lima Heights on her ass,” Santana grumbles, the fresh bruise on her shin throbbing in agreement.

Brittany giggles and nudges Santana with her shoulder. “I’ll make sure to choreograph her on the other side of the stage then,” she promises teasingly.

Santana pretends she’s not melting into a puddle of love and adoration at Brittany’s statement, but based on the smirk spreading across Mercedes face, she’s failing spectacularly. “Thanks,” she mumbles, hiding her blush at being caught being all mushy or whatever by shovelling a large mouthful of fettuccine in her mouth. “Have you heard if any of the other losers have been doing Mr. Schue’s job for him and come up with an idea?”

Brittany snorts and drops her fork on her plate to take a quick sip of her Dr. Pepper, smirking around the straw between her teeth. “I dunno but I’m pretty sure Sue’s about ready to kill them all. Like _actually_ kill them. The past couple years were nothing compared to now.”

Mercedes laughs a little. “Thank God that you two are on the Troubletones, because it more or less protects me from her wrath.”

Santana smirks. “She’s used to having a Nationals routine picked out and perfected by September. Honestly, I’m surprised that we’ve even gotten this far considering how utterly abysmal Mr. Schue’s organizational skills are.”

“Kurt mentioned something about doing Meatloaf or something,” Mercedes relays.

“But I thought this was a singing competition. I’m not good enough at cooking to compete in Nationals,” Brittany deadpans. 

Santana takes a long sip of her drink to try and hide her amusement. Mercedes stares at Brittany in utter confusion, until she recognizes the glint in her eyes. She fondly rolls her eyes and shakes her head a little. “Girl, you had me there for a second,” she complains, pointing her fork at Brittany, “You’ve really just been making fun of us this whole time, haven’t you?”

Brittany’s lips twitch but she manages to maintain her deadpan. “I would never,” she says, her voice cracking just a little under the weight of trying to suppress her laughter. 

Mercedes rolls her eyes and takes a mouthful of her ravioli. “I can’t believe you spent all these years convincing us all that you were confused like ninety percent of the time, when you were just trolling us all.” She smiles and bumps her feet against Brittany’s, her words laced with easy affection.

Santana beams at Brittany and tugs her hand a little until they’re leaning into each other a little, their shoulders and arms warm and comforting where they press against together. “My girl’s a trolling genius,” Santana says proudly. Brittany swallows the meatball she was chewing, but it feels more like she just swallowed a swarm of tropical butterflies because a fluttering warmth spreads through her limbs as her skin tingles. Santana’s smile remains steady on her, soft and adoring, and she ducks down to give Santana a chaste kiss, because as nice as it is to have friends who finally understand her, it’s even nicer to know that Santana’s been there all along, ever since that first week of kindergarten, having never ever needed a guide to understand how Brittany’s brain works.

* * *

April is colours blooming and songbirds chirping, life re-imbuing once again everything with colour in the fading winter white; it’s the the resilience of the fresh green of spring surviving one last snowstorm as the cold tries to maintain a grasp on the world, it’s growing excitement and wonder in the face of a looming future, it’s dancing the whole night away in front of the school like the best dream coming true, and it’s finally feeling the sense of belonging that had once been so elusive, finally understanding that a crown doesn’t matter nearly as much as tangled fingers and lingering kisses under the cheap gymnasium lights.

* * *

If she’s being honest, Brittany’s never really understood what the big deal with grad dates was. Most of the girls in their grade have had grad dates for senior prom picked out since they were all freshmen; Brittany could barely even picture what tomorrow would look like back then, let alone pick who she would take as her date to prom in four years. She knows that she’s not the same person she was in freshmen year, and she knows that Santana isn’t either, both of which she’s actually really thankful for. She loved Santana back then too—of course she did; how could she not when Santana is so easy to love?—and she knows Santana loved her too, but it was so hard back then. They were still so young and confused and scared that they almost tore each other apart. But now she can love Santana in the open and not be afraid of scaring her away; they can hold hands in the hallways and cuddle in the lunchroom and kiss each other goodbye, all things they couldn’t do back in freshmen year or sophomore or junior year because neither of them were ready to love the other the way they needed to be loved quite yet.

Which is why she thinks it’s so dumb to have decided something like a prom date four years ago, because nobody is the same as they were back when they were fourteen, and especially since some people in their grade haven’t even spoken to their grad date since freshmen year.

It leads to a lot of snickering between her and Santana as they watch yet another unfortunate senior be cornered by someone they promised to go to prom with four years ago, which is almost always followed by the most awkward conversation either of the poor teenagers have probably ever had, their expressions stuck somewhere between constipated and disgusted. Brittany’s just really glad to have Santana by her side, both of them trying—and failing—to hide their laughter as the other Cheerios lament the poor decisions they made when they were freshmen.

She meets Santana’s eyes from a couple feet away and has to stick her head in her locker to keep from bursting out into laughter at the face Santana pulls when Peggy Russell starts complaining about having to go to prom with Liam Westbury—a boy who was cute enough when he was fourteen, but has since tried to launch his rap career from his family farm.

Brittany thinks Liam Westbury could have a rap career the way viral videos of hilariously awful singers have careers. Peggy Russell seems to agree based on her loud complaints of the promposal rap Liam Westbury tried to serenade her with.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have made any lasting decisions when you still thought two-toned hair looked good,” Santana comments idly.

“Easy for you to say,” Peggy complains, “Brittany’s, like, the perfect gentleman compared to Liam.”

“And a better rapper,” Brittany agrees. Santana snorts as she packs things into her Cheerios bag, her eyes sparkling and a proud grin playing at her lips. “Not that it takes much to be better than his country boy drawl.”

Peggy giggles and finishes changing, the collar of her shirt leaving her ponytail lopsided and half falling out as she pulls it on. “You guys got your dresses already, right?”

Brittany immediately starts pouting and lets her shoulders droop into a disheartened slump. “She won’t let me see,” she whines.

Santana straightens and refuses to meet Brittany’s petulant expression, knowing how easily Brittany can make her cave with that deadly pout of hers. “This one’s been bugging me to see the dress since I got it.”

“So I know what I should wear!” Brittany immediately defends. “Do you want us to look like a pair of mismatched socks up there?” And okay, sure, she _has_ been begging Santana for _months_ to at least get a peak at the dress for practical reasons, but she also wants to see it because she’s impatient and she knows Santana is going to look stunningly beautiful, and she really wants to see Santana in her dress as soon as possible.

“I told you it was red,” Santana says with a fond eye roll, having had this conversation about a billion times.

“But that could be _any_ shade,” Brittany whines, having given that same argument about a billion times.

Peggy is watching their conversation with a tiny smile playing at her lips, pausing in packing her Cheerios bag to watch one of the captains and their choreographer teasingly argue with each other.

Santana glances up and catches the warm look on Peggy’s face, immediately bristling defensively. “What are you staring at? The fact that you choose a little Soundcloud rapping farm boy as your date isn’t my fault, so back your jeepers creepers peepers up afores I ends you.”

Peggy just rolls her eyes and shrugs; after knowing Santana since they were Junior Cheerios in middle school, she has long since become immune to her signature venom. “You two are cute, is all,” she says easily.

Santana blinks and shrinks back a little. Something in Brittany’s chest flutters brightly, recognizing Santana’s flush more from her bashful head bob and twisting hands rather than an outright blush. She’s so adorable that Brittany kind of wants to wrap her in her arms and spin her around and never let go, but there’s not enough space in the locker room to do that, so instead she just gives Santana her most in-love smile. It causes Santana to duck her head even further, the tiny smile playing on her lips is about the cutest thing in the entire world and makes Brittany feel like she’s melting through the floor. 

“I can ask Lord Tubbington to slash Liam’s tires so he won’t be able to pick you up,” she says to Peggy, redirecting the conversation as she closes and locks her locker, trying to give Santana some time to recompose herself. “We’ve been trying to break his gang affiliations but it’s hard—something about blood ties or whatever—so he’s still got an obsession with doing illegal stuff.”

Peggy opens her mouth to respond but quickly snaps it closed, blinking in confusion at Brittany, who just grins encouragingly and tries not to crack under the adoring look Santana throws her way. “Thanks, Brittany,” Peggy says slowly, “But, uh, I’ll figure something else out.”

Brittany shrugs and shoulders her Cheerios bag. “Well, I’ll let him know in case you change your mind last minute.”

Santana’s giggles are muffled as she pulls her rain jacket on, locking her own locker and shouldering her Cheerios bag. “Later, loser,” she says to Peggy as her and Brittany head out of the locker room.

“Bye, bitch,” Peggy calls back around a smirk as the door swings shut behind them.

Brittany immediately reaches for Santana’s hand, tangling their fingers together as they walk down the hall. It’s darker than usual with the rainclouds hanging shadowy and heavy over Lima, the florescent lights casting the hallway in sharper contrast than usual as the artificial light is forced to work twice as hard to illuminate the school without the assistance of the sun. The school is silent aside from their footsteps and the rustle of their rain jackets and the distant sound of thunder drowning out the rain pelting the windows.

“Hey, are you picking me up then?” Santana asks suddenly. “For prom, I mean. ‘Cause I— Well, my mom’s working and I can’t use the car so.”

Brittany swings their arms and bites back a grin. “Well,” she drawls, “I was kinda expecting you to pick me up since you asked me to prom.”

“But—”

“I mean, you still have your bike, right? If you won’t have the car, you can just improvise, right? I can sit in your basket and honk the horn when we pull up. It’d be easier than renting a limo.”

Santana looks lost for a second before she smacks Brittany gently in the stomach; Brittany releases the strap of her bag and catches Santana’s hand, holding it against her as she tugs them to a stop. “You dork,” Santana complains with a fond eye roll, “You had me there for a second.”

Brittany grins and releases Santana’s hand so she can drop her Cheerios bag by their feet, draping her arm over Santana’s shoulder to draw them closer together, their rain jackets scratching against each other. “Of course I’ll pick you up in my carriage, Cinderella.”

Santana’s nose wrinkles so adorably that Brittany just has to duck down and kiss it. “You don’t really think I’m Cinderella, do you?” she asks, her voice dripping with distaste.

Brittany giggles and rocks them back and forth. “Definitely not. If any one’s Cinderella it’s Sugar because she’s _always_ losing her vests and sweaters and stuff at our houses, and I’m not convinced she didn’t emerge from a pumpkin instead of someone’s uterus.”

“Yeah,” Santana agrees around her grin, “The pumpkin spice perfume is a little much.”

Brittany nods seriously as she draws them closer together, holding her pensive expression for half a beat before she smiles and kisses Santana, swallowing her girlfriend’s slightly startled noise. Santana quickly recovers and lets her own Cheerios bag fall beside Brittany’s as she slides her hands around Brittany’s waist, their other hands still tangled and partially squished between their thighs as they sink into each other.

“Hi,” Brittany sighs as she draws back a little.

Santana giggles against Brittany’s lips as she follows Brittany’s mouth. “Hi.”

“I missed you all day,” Brittany whispers as if she’s telling a secret, “It really sucks when they schedule student council and prom meetings so early ‘cause then I can’t get my good morning kisses.”

Santana hums her agreement, her lips sliding across Brittany’s jaw as she nuzzles into her girlfriend. “It is your duty to serve the people though, Madame President.”

Brittany grins into Santana’s hair, tightening her arm around Santana’s shoulder and feeling Santana’s smile press to her neck. “A duty I do reluctantly when it takes me away from you,” she says charmingly, her grin widening when Santana pinches her hips teasingly. A thought suddenly strikes her and she bounces up on her toes, dislodging a disgruntled Santana from her neck. “Wait, if I’m picking you up do I get to give you a corsage?” Brittany asks, excitement starting to bubble in her stomach at the thought of picking out the flowers that will stay on Santana’s wrist all night.

Santana pulls away from Brittany enough that she can meet her gaze, her brown eyes glowing brightly. “Only if I get to give you one too.” Her hand slides under Brittany’s jacket and shirt until it anchors on warm skin, scratching lightly as Brittany arches into the sensation like a cat.

Brittany beams and finally releases Santana’s hand so she can wrap it around her girlfriend, tugging them into a full embrace that they would usually never share on school property. But she figures it’s alright considering how deserted the school is right now and the fact that Brittany can’t control the excitement bubbling in her stomach at the thought of picking Santana up, of sliding a corsage onto her wrist, of dancing with her all night. She already knows this prom will be so much better than last year’s because, as much fun as stealing everyone’s dates was, nothing can compare to the thought of having Santana in her arms all night.

“You have to show me your dress then,” Brittany begs, “So I know what type of corsage to pick out.”

“Nu-huh,” Santana laughs, teasingly pinching Brittany’s side until she’s squirming in her embrace, “Not a chance.”

Brittany pouts and dramatically flops her weight onto Santana, trusting her girlfriend to catch her and hold her steady. “Not even a peek?” she pouts.

Santana kisses Brittany’s shoulder and heaves Brittany back onto her feet. “I’ll send you a picture of the colour,” she finally concedes, “But that’s all.”

Brittany sighs and blows a raspberry on Santana’s neck, tightening her arms around Santana so she can’t escape when she tries to squirm away from Brittany’s vibrating lips. “Lame,” she says, “I’ll just go to Maribel.”

“Good luck with that.” Santana shrieks as Brittany blows another raspberry, this one at the hinge of Santana’s jaw, all her usually sensitive spots turning ticklish under Brittany’s assault. “She’s the one who suggested that I keep my dress a secret from you.”

“Double lame,” Brittany complains against Santana’s jaw. “It’s a Lopez Conspiracy against me!”

“You dork,” Santana laughs as Brittany alternates between sucking kisses and ticklish raspberries, slowly making her way back to Santana’s lips.

“Your dork,” Brittany corrects.

“My dork,” Santana agrees, smiling so wide that it’s hard for Brittany to kiss her properly—which doesn’t mean she stops trying; by far Brittany’s favourite way to kiss Santana is when they’re both smiling, because nothing in the world compares to feeling Santana’s happiness against her own.

Distant footsteps force them to pull away from each other, glancing down the hallway and seeing a couple Cheerios exiting the locker room. Santana lazily pulls Brittany back for another brief kiss before detangling from her girlfriend enough to grab her discarded bag with one hand and Brittany’s hand in her other.

Warmth sparks in Brittany’s stomach as she picks up her own bag, and she can’t help but marvel at how far Santana has come—at how far they’ve _both_ come—since this time last year. Spring of junior year was so hard, and there were days when they didn’t talk to each other at all, days that turned into sleepless nights as Brittany stared at her ceiling and grew sick with all the pain and fear and guilt inside. Her chest tightens a little, just thinking about how Santana grew meaner because she grew sadder, and how she herself grew passive because she grew scared.

What she realizes now is just how much of a difference a year can make, something that seemed so impossible at the time. But the Santana of junior year and the Santana currently holding her hand are worlds apart in their journey, and so is the Brittany of last year and who she is now. Just a year ago and they were both so scared all the time, dodging the thorns on the cages they built and enforced themselves; and it took tearing their hearts against their own barbs, and then against each other’s barbs, in order to get to a place where they could fully love each the way they both needed and deserved.

“Do you believe in soulmates?” Brittany asks suddenly.

Santana looks startled for a moment before her expression softens, her eyes growing warm and bright and fathomless. “Yeah, Britt, I do,” she says simply, easily, as if it’s a truth she’s always known. Brittany smiles at her feet, trying to contain the goofy smile that’s threatening to overwhelm her. Santana squeezes her hand, tangling their fingers tighter together. “What about you?”

Brittany finally meets Santana’s gaze and offers her a slightly shy smile, her stomach twisting up in knots even while her heart beats strong and sure. “Same. I mean— Yeah, I do too.”

Santana tugs on Brittany’s arm until she can kiss her, a little clumsily since they slow their pace but don’t stop walking. “Score,” she mumbles teasingly.

Brittany laughs, the sound lost against Santana’s lips, “That’s my line.”

Santana just kisses her one more time before drawing back with a small smirk. Brittany’s breath catches at the love glowing in Santana’s eyes, and it just confirms her belief in soulmates because she understands things like forever and limits and infinity, and she understands how all of those things add up to create one soul in two bodies, and she understands how a soul vibrates and trembles that first time it recognizes itself in another’s body.

She’s known it since Santana took her hand that first week of kindergarten.

* * *

April comes and goes in the quiet moments, with time spent twining even closer together until the missing parts of one’s soul is rediscovered in warm smiles, with moments intended to weave friendships that would last for a lifetime, with the feeling of finally coming full circle since the start of friendship into something more, with mornings laying tangled together and listening to the songbirds start up their calls again after a long a cruel winter, longing in reverse as all the memories of wishing for adulthood as a kid too young to know what it really meant become nostalgic rather than yearning, realizing that all their dreams from back then would eventually bloom into more than they could ever have imagined.

* * *

“Come on guys, you have to focus.”

Brittany glances up from her spot hunched over the auditorium desk and meets Santana’s annoyed gaze from across the room. She stifles a giggle into her hand as Santana dramatically rolls her eyes and mimes pulling a trigger on the finger gun she holds to her temple; Santana beams at Brittany’s amusement, bouncing a little on her toes and obviously delighted to have entertained her girlfriend across the auditorium. Mercedes looks equally as bored, and Sugar is filing her nails while lounging on the piano bench, not even pretending to pay attention to the rehearsal. They were pretty spoiled while they were just the Troubletones, because Ms. Corcoran had a really good way of holding their attention and focusing their energy on rehearsal; Mr. Schue is pretty disorganized and, without the guiding, albeit military style, hand of one Sue Sylvester—who is off at some meeting or something—the rehearsal has long since derailed. Most of the glee kids are in various states of daydreams as Mr. Schue focuses his attention on only one thing at a time.

Brittany’s pretty lucky because she’s in one of the comfortable auditorium desk chairs with Mike, mostly out of earshot of the rehearsal so they can work on choreography, while the rest of the glee club are forced to stand or sit on the stage. Mike’s really good at figuring out things like transitions and different types of partner dance, while Brittany focuses mostly on spacing and staging and symmetry.

Brittany knows she knows staging really well. It’s one of the few things that she just gets, mostly because it’s one of the things that never makes her frustrated. She knows she’s not dumb—not like Finn is dumb—but sometimes when she doesn’t get something she gets frustrated with it and herself, and it makes her just give up on it and accept that she just won’t ever get it; especially when everyone else is already expecting her to fail, because it doesn’t exactly motivate her to keep trying.

But she gets staging; it doesn’t make her frustrated because it comes second nature to her. She can see the way people move around each other while choreographing because, in a lot of ways, it’s analytical and creative, utilizing what Santana has cutely deemed her _math brain_ and combining it with her natural talent for dance. She gets math—she really does, her SAT scores a testament to that—but it’s just hard when all the teachers over-explain everything and cause her to overthink it; she always understands mathematical concepts until the teachers start breaking it down because that’s when things get confused and muddled in her brain.

So she takes pride in choreographing, because while a lot of people think she’s fluke smart when it comes to math (secretly, she kind of agrees with them, at least until Santana lovingly beats those thoughts down), they _know_ she can dance. Her and Mike have been doing more choreographing this past year, when the glee club was split up and after when they merged again, and all of their work this year has been building to this moment of choreographing a winning Nationals performance.

While Mr. Schue focuses on individual vocals and duets and solos, the Troubletones that aren’t Santana and Mercedes and Sugar are squirrelled away in their own little corner, still a little uncertain around the New Directions; Brittany doesn’t really blame them, because whenever someone says the glee club’s name too fast she still giggles like a twelve year old, and she can’t imagine that would leave a very good first impression. Honestly, they probably should have looked into renaming the club before it became their brand; she thought forever about the name _Fondue for Two_ before she started posting videos, knowing that it would be near impossible to change it later. To her, _New Directions_ has always seemed like a spur of the moment name that never should have been seriously considered.

The music starts up again and startles Brittany from her musings as she glances down to resume counting out the beats on her timing map. Mike is furiously scribbling like he was just struck with an idea and has to write it down before he explodes, so Brittany just leaves him be. Mr. Schue stops the music again and says something to Puck; they’re too far away to make out his words, but the annoyance in his tone easily reaches Brittany’s ears. She glances up at Santana, and this time she’s using her hand to dramatically mime Mr. Schue talking, her head swinging back and forth like her neck is boneless and limp; Brittany tries to stifle her giggles again, but Mike glances up at her laughter. He follows her gaze to Santana’s mocking hand gestures and snorts, a smirk playing at his lips as he turns back to scribbling.

Brittany grins at Mike—she’s always thought of him as her bro, because they just kind of get each other without saying much, since both of them express themselves much better through dance than words—and glances back at the stage to imagine how it will look with bodies flowing through it to the music. Her eyes land on the rest of the Troubletones again, and she considers them for a moment, wondering why they’re still here. They’re already done for the day, since _Edge of Glory_ was rehearsed first, but Mr. Schue forgot to dismiss them after, so now they’re just kind of hovering awkwardly by the piano. Brittany frowns a little and points at the Troubletones, waiting until Santana glances over her shoulder and understands what Brittany’s getting at.

Santana nods at Brittany and rolls her eyes, gesturing towards Mr. Schue with her slight head roll, before she nudges Mercedes. She leans towards Mercedes and mutters something under her breath while Mr. Schue—who remains oblivious to everything but working on Rachel and Finn’s harmonies—restarts the instrumental version of the song.

Brittany’s already counted this part out like seven different times, so she only half pays attention to her timing map and instead keeps her eyes on her girlfriend, watching as Mercedes nods before Santana slinks over to the rest of the Troubletones, obviously dismissing them as they all start to pack up and file out of the auditorium. Brittany rolls her eyes at the fact that Mr. Schue remains none the wiser to the eight people who just noisily left the stage.

The song gets all the way to the end of the first section before Mr. Schue turns to Mike and Brittany and calls them down. They more or less have the whole first minute choreographed, up until Kurt and Blaine’s first tiny duet, and Mike and Brittany quickly converse with Mr. Schue on what they’ve added while everyone else takes a water break. They’re probably done with vocals for the day, which means they’ll be dancing their legs off for the next couple hours.

It’s exhausting, but Nationals is only in a couple weeks and time is very quickly slipping away from them.

Mr. Schue adds his own input, and five minutes later the three of them are guiding people into place and demonstrating the choreography. Brittany starts the opening of the song beside Santana, and while Mike shows Finn and Blaine their opening moves, Brittany takes a brief moment to tug Santana into a hug, spinning her into her arms and trying to hush her giggles. They’ve been so stupid busy lately, what with Nationals and prom and graduation coming up, that they’ve really only been able to steal small moments with each other. They barely even spent any time together on their date night last Friday because it had basically consisted of them eating pizza before passing out on the couch, quickly sinking into unconsciousness as soon as they were cuddled up in front of a movie and able to relax for the first time all week.

Santana laughs and sinks into Brittany’s embrace, letting her girlfriend take her weight for a moment, not even noticing the chorus of _awws_ that arise from Sugar, Tina, and Quinn, who are already in their places and cooing over the couple. Santana tips her head back to kiss the underside of Brittany’s chin before Mr. Schue claps and they are forced to separate into their places.

It takes them almost forty-five minutes to get through the first minute, up to when most of them are lined up on the lowest temporary riser, to mimic what the Chicago stage will look like. This is the new part her and Mike choreographed, the part that Brittany’s a bit nervous about because she’s nervous that Mr. Schue might reject it.

It’s the part where her and Santana have their small duet, and the choreography wasn’t even her idea, it was Mike’s; an idea he quietly outlined for her with a soft smile. She had hugged him as hard as she could because she didn’t realize how good it felt to have the unconditional acceptance and support from her friends until this year, where most of them rallied around her and Santana (and as for the ones who didn’t, well Santana may have a more forgiving heart than most people realize, but Brittany’s always been the one to hold grudges enough for the both of them).

Mr. Schue turns to Brittany for the next choreography, but Mike steps forward to direct them before Brittany can say anything. He guides them through the next part, ordering Santana to step down off the lowest step of temporary riser and walk towards the centre of the line, Brittany mirroring her moves on the other side.

Mr. Schue is humming for them, and Santana sings her part and everything around them fades for a moment; Mike counting beats, Mr. Schue’s humming, the other glee kids on the risers spinning in place, the rest of the club chatting on the sides of the stage—it all fades away when she meets Santana’s eyes.

“ _Though it’s cold and lonely in the deep dark night_.”

That night seems like years ago and just yesterday all at once. She can picture it in perfect colour; the flash of streetlights painting Santana’s skin in pure gold, a contrast to the greenish-blue dashboard lights reflecting in her dark eyes, Meatloaf’s growl against Santana’s rasp and her own voice, the pride and awe at how Santana was slowly pushing away her fear, a feeling that had grown in her chest all night, from Santana’s lips on her cheek under the fireworks to her offered hand on the console, the feeling like they were the only two people in the entire world.

Her and Santana meet in the middle, their harmony ringing out in the auditorium without any scrutiny from Mr. Schue, and Brittany jolts back into reality, glad her body and voice kept going even while her heart was somewhere in the summer of last year.

Kurt and Blaine step up beside them under Mike’s directions, but all Brittany can focus on is the softness to her girlfriend’s smile as Santana glances at her, brown eyes glowing with the past and the present and the future, reflecting Brittany’s own memories back at her; because Brittany understands things like forever and limits and infinity.

Mike guides them through the crossover and the next couple lines, directing Finn and Mercedes to emerge from the wings and join the two couples, explaining to Mr. Schue the next section they choreographed where the line of glee kids on the risers would break off while the three Troubletones and three New Directions sang in the front.

After running through it a couple more times—and realizing that, no matter how many times they did the choreography, her heart still skipped a beat every time Santana met her eyes across the stage—Mr. Schue gave his seal of approval.

It takes another hour before Brittany and Santana are finally collapsed into her car, sweaty and exhausted and still running high on the adrenaline of the rehearsal. Brittany starts the car and quickly turns her defogger on, their overly hot bodies turning all the glass cloudy. It’s dark already, only the harsh school streetlights that flood the entire parking lot as if it was daytime allowing them to see each other. They wave at different glee kids as they drive past them, all on their way home to well earned showers and sleep.

“I can’t believe they picked _Paradise By The Dashboard Light_ ,” Santana says, “I mean, what are the chances?”

“About as good as them picking any song,” Brittany teases.

Santana rolls her eyes and swats at Brittany’s arm, Santana’s fingers lingering on her skin a little too affectionately for to pull off being truly annoyed by Brittany’s response. “You know what I mean.” Brittany takes a moment to study Santana, noticing how the seemingly permanent bags under her eyes and constantly furrowed brow have faded into glowing eyes and an ever-present smile threatening her lips.

In a lot of ways, Santana is so different from the Santana of that night; while the Santana who shyly offered her hand in the shadowy safety of the car that night was just starting her journey of finally coming into herself, the Santana sat beside Brittany now is so open and honest and fearless.

Though in a lot of ways, in all the ones that matter, Santana is exactly the same.

“Sometimes I can’t even believe I was _that_ nervous to hold your hand,” Santana shares with a small eye roll. “Ridiculous.”

“Adorable,” Brittany immediately corrects.

“You have to say that,” Santana complains drolly, her hand sliding absently down Brittany’s arm until their fingers tangle, “You’re my girlfriend.”

“And I have been since before you even knew it,” Brittany counters, grinning widely at the instantaneous blush that spreads across Santana’s cheeks. No matter how she tries to hide it, Santana still gets a little embarrassed by the fact that it took her _months_ to figure out what Brittany knew all along; Brittany thinks it’s basically the cutest thing in the world. 

“I can’t believe you’re still on about that,” Santana grumbles, slouching in her seat.

Brittany grins and leans over the centre console so she can guide Santana’s lips to hers. “Stop being so adorable and I’ll drop it,” she mutters.

Santana groans, partially because of how deep and thorough Brittany kisses her, and partially because Brittany is, like, the absolute worst tease and troll ever. “I hate you,” she mumbles against Brittany’s lips, though the fact that she’s kissing Brittany back with everything she has and the fact that she’s kind of really super sappy about being in love with Brittany, like, all the time kind of renders her protest moot.

“You love me,” Brittany singsongs as she trails her lips down Santana’s jaw, “You love me, you love me, you love me _—_ ” 

“Okay, okay, okay!” Santana relents around her laughter, Brittany’s lips purposefully featherlight and ticklish against her skin, “I love you!”

Brittany pulls back a little and bites her lip at the pure happiness on Santana’s face, something tugging low in her stomach, like a string pulling her back to Santana. “Tell me again,” she husks teasingly.

Santana grins and anchors her free hand on the back of Brittany’s neck, tugging her forward so suddenly that Brittany goes sprawling across the console and Santana, her hip somehow miraculously missing the horn.

“I love you,” Santana whispers before sealing their lips together.

* * *

May is new life and warm rain, reminding the living that with every stretch of harshness comes a fresh breeze to blow away the dark; it’s vibrant memories of a time so long ago and so close all at once, it’s the scent of petrichor hanging heavy in the air before heavy clouds pound the countryside with rain, it’s old memories blending with new ones in the familiar drumbeat of iconic songs, and it’s crossing that familiar stage for the thousandth time with an entirely new meaning, the movement of a tassel and a firm handshake that starts to the next chapter far less important than the quiet moments after, the whisper of lips to cheek in the click of a shutter.

* * *

Santana and Brittany get separated after they all toss their hats in the air; when Santana spotted her mom in the crowd and broke away to meet her, Brittany disappeared with a quick kiss to find her own family. Maribel was crying by the time Santana reached her, so proud that her only child was now graduated that it made Santana’s own eyes start watering in response. They’d been on their own for so long—long before Santana’s father had physically left them—that it’s almost overwhelming to celebrate this milestone, just the two of them, without any of the family who turned their backs on them to ruin this day (if Santana has been ignoring her father’s calls this past week because she’s been too busy celebrating with her mom and girlfriend and friends, well, she doesn’t feel the least bit of guilty about it).

After getting a bunch of pictures with her mom in her cap and gown holding her diploma, she sets out to find Brittany. They already have pictures of the two of them together in their cap and gowns—from before the ceremony started when the grad class walked from town hall up to the school as part of McKinley’s grad tradition—but Maribel wants some of her own with the two of them holding their diplomas, and Santana’s pretty sure that the Pierces will probably want some too.

So she sets out on a hunt for Brittany, dodging around flashes of red gowns and crowds of cooing families, waving briefly at some of her friends, whether Cheerios or Troubletones or glee kids, as she walks around the auditorium. Brittany’s nowhere to be seen, but she catches a glimpse of the rest of the Pierces making their way towards her own mom. She’s heading in their direction to ask Whitney and Pierce where Brittany disappeared to, when her phone vibrates in her pocket, and it takes a minute for her to awkwardly dig under her gown to pull her phone out. She quickly reads the message before spinning on her heel and heading off in the opposite direction, using her Cheerios perfected scowl to scare people out of her way. The crowd parts for her like the Red Sea and she smirks a little, tucking that thought away to tell Brittany later.

The hallway is deserted as she steps out of the auditorium, her footsteps echoing against the lockers. It feels really weird to be walking down the empty hall in her cap and gown, like she’s somewhere in between, somewhere that exists just outside of her current reality, like some sort of liminal space. She shakes off the feeling as she reaches her destination and slowly cracks the door open.

Brittany’s alone in the bathroom, nervously fiddling with her cap, her diploma and phone sitting on the counter beside the sink.

“Hey,” Santana says, quietly letting the door swing shut behind her so she doesn’t scare her girlfriend too badly.

Brittany glances up as her hands fall away from her cap, a small smile playing on her lips. “Hey,” she greets, reaching out for Santana’s hands and drawing her closer, only allowing Santana to step away for a moment to deposit her phone and diploma on top of Brittany’s. As soon as Santana’s back in her arms she ducks down to kiss her, quickly reaching up to catch Santana’s cap as her own knocks it off her girlfriend’s head. Santana giggles into Brittany’s mouth, pulling away so Brittany can place her cap back her head, smiling sheepishly as she then brings her hand down to wipe away the lipstick smeared across Santana’s chin.

“What are you doing hidden away in here?” Santana asks, obviously getting right to the heart of the matter when the playful smile on Brittany’s face fades away and she glances to the side. “Hey, you,” she coos, guiding Brittany’s face back towards her, “What’s wrong?”

Brittany sighs and nuzzles into Santana’s hand, drawing comfort from her girlfriend’s warmth. “I got a letter last night. I guess the school or something sent out my SAT scores to MIT and they wanna talk to me about a scholarship or working with them or something? I dunno, it was a lot of big words and official stuff and, like, research-y things.”

Santana blinks and tries to process Brittany’s words, the future that had been spread out before them suddenly rippling like a stone dropped in water, everything they’d been working towards for the past year—for most of their lives, if she’s being honest—shimmering like an illusion that might disappear if she breathes too hard.

“Britt,” she manages, “That’s—”

“An amazing opportunity?” Brittany interrupts exhaustedly, “Yeah, I know. My mom won’t shut up about it.”

Santana studies Brittany for a long moment, pushing her own fears to the side as she takes in the slouched posture of her girlfriend, the dullness to her eyes and the tightness to her lips. “But it’s not what you want,” Santana realizes. She releases Brittany’s hands so she can grab Brittany’s waist and draw them even closer together, both finding comfort in the solid press of their bodies against each other.

Brittany sighs and sinks into Santana’s embrace. “It’s a really good opportunity and it’s a full ride scholarship and they’d pay me for the research and it’d be good experience and they said that they want—”

Santana interrupts Brittany with a soft kiss, letting Brittany’s words die against her lips. “But it’s not what you want,” she repeats, “Right?”

“Not really,” Brittany admits with a grateful exhale, her eyes bright with relief. “I understand math, but I don’t like it.”

“And you don’t want to spend four years doing something you don’t like.” Santana scratches comfortingly at Brittany’s back, her soothing touch relaxing the tension from Brittany’s body.

“Away from you,” Brittany adds, and at the confusion on Santana’s face she finally cracks a small smile. “I don’t want to spend four years of my life doing something that I don’t really like _away from you_.”

Santana melts a little and kisses Brittany’s chin before bouncing up on her toes to locate her girlfriend’s mouth. “If it was what you really wanted to do, we’d get figure it out,” she reassures her, “We’d make it work and get through it.”

“But it’s not,” Brittany corrects, her smile turning goofy and dreamy, “Living in New York with you is kind of all I’ve wanted to do since you suggested it when we were like nine.”

“It’s ‘cause we got really into _Elf_ that summer,” Santana remembers with a grin, “We must have watched it like once a day. It drove my mom nuts.”

“Oh, my mom _lost_ the DVD,” Brittany says sarcastically, “I found it broken and buried at the bottom of the garbage.”

“I totally forgot about that,” Santana laughs, “You were devastated and ran away to my house crying the entire way. I thought something terrible had happened because you were so inconsolable.”

“My mom was desperately calling all our neighbours trying to find me. She really should have known to call your house first.”

“She really should have,” Santana agrees, managing to keep a completely serious face for a moment before they both crack into giggles against each other. They sober a moment later as Santana’s face falls into soft worry. “You sure you don’t wanna go to MIT?”

Brittany smiles confidently, feeling certain for the first time since she opened that letter yesterday night. “Positive. You are my dream,” she promises, and warmth curls in Santana’s chest, making her feel like just about the best thing ever, “not some acting job. Plus they’re Brits too, so it would just confuse me a lot.”

“MIT is a school in Massachusetts, Britt,” Santana says with a grin, having long learned to recognize the amused sparkle in those blue eyes.

“Wait, you mean _MIT_ isn’t a British crime show?” Brittany gasps. “I thought it was like the European version of _CSI_.”

“Ridiculous,” Santana giggles as she kisses her girlfriend; Brittany just smiles against Santana’s mouth. “C’mon, let’s get back to everyone. My mom wants pictures of us.”

Brittany makes no move to step out of Santana’s embrace, instead she just tightens her arms around her girlfriend. “Didn’t you send her the ones we took earlier?”

Santana rolls her eyes, the tassel of her cap swinging into her line of vision from the motion of her head. “I did, but she said she wants ones of us holding our diplomas too.”

Brittany grins and ducks forward to quickly kiss Santana before stepping up to the sink, passing her girlfriend’s phone and diploma to her before retrieving her own. “Okay, but first, one of us,” she says, holding her phone up with a smile. Santana grins and steps under Brittany’s arm, nuzzling as close to Brittany as she can get with their gowns and diplomas in the way. Their caps force them to awkwardly weave their heads around each other before they can both fit into the frame. “Ready?” Brittany giggles. As soon as Santana nods, Brittany lunges forward to kiss her cheek, their caps knocking together as Santana bursts into laughter at the motion.

The picture ends up just a little unfocused, with Brittany’s cap is lopsided and almost completely out of frame, but it catches the surprised delight on Santana’s face, her dark eyes wide and smiling as her nose scrunches up with her laughter. Brittany’s nose is squished against Santana’s cheek, and she’s beaming so much that it’s less a kiss and more just her pressing a smile to Santana’s skin, but there’s a type of love radiating from her that can’t be replicated in any of the purposefully posed selfies they take afterwards.

It’s Santana’s favourite picture of them from all of prom and grad combined, because it somehow manages to capture the way that being with Brittany feels; adoring and carefree and laughing and so in love.

* * *

May comes and goes in the quiet moments, with old memories melting into new beginnings, with the days growing longer and the nights growing shorter, with the sun starting to darken skin and lighten hair and freckle blushing cheeks, with simple kisses that mean everything and long kisses that mean simple things, and with the knowledge that facing the world that’s out there waiting is much less daunting when there’s already a hand to hold on to, knowing it will be there for infinity and infinity and infinity.

* * *

“We really should get up,” Brittany says.

“Ngh,” Santana huffs.

Brittany laughs and runs her hand soothingly down Santana’s back, causing her to stretch and nuzzle closer to Brittany the way Lord Tubbington used to when he was a kitten. “ _Ngh_?” she asks, “What does _ngh_ mean?”

Santana sleepily pats at Brittany’s stomach, burying her face completely in Brittany’s neck. “It means five more minutes,” she finally mumbles.

“Come on,” Brittany goads teasingly, “The sooner we finish packing the sooner we can actually go to bed.”

“Ugh,” Santana whines, “Why do you have to always be right?”

“Because I’m a genius,” Brittany says without missing a beat. Santana mutters something that’s lost to the soft skin of Brittany’s neck before she reluctantly peels herself off her girlfriend, propping herself up on an elbow and glowering at Brittany, who just grins and tucks some of Santana’s staticky hair behind her ear. “What?”

“I _said_ ,” Santana grumbles dramatically, “That you’re insufferable.”

Brittany lunges at Santana and drags her back down to her chest, wrapping her in a crushing hug and giggling as Santana shrieks and tries to squirm away. “You love me,” she singsongs over Santana’s loud complaining.

Santana finally goes limp, unable to hide the way her body melts into Brittany’s even when she’s trying to be stubborn. “I guess,” she mutters.

“You do,” Brittany teases.

“Ugh. Fine.” Brittany loosens her hold on her girlfriend, and the faux-irritated look on Santana’s face instantly softens into adoration as she meets Brittany’s eyes. “I love you, Britt,” she whispers.

Brittany sighs as she guides Santana’s lips to hers, kissing her languidly like they have all the time in the world. Santana is soft and warm above her, and her mouth is even softer and warmer, and Brittany’s pretty sure that this is basically heaven. She literally can’t wait until they’re in New York together, because waking up to this everyday instead of just whenever their parents allow them to have a sleepover (which have become far and few between ever since last November, much to their pouting complaints and their parents’ continuing stubbornness) sounds like the best thing in the world.

After long minutes of getting lost in each other, they reluctantly disentangle and push themselves up off the bed. The only thing left to pack up is Santana’s closet. They aren’t moving to New York for months yet, but with her only child leaving home, Maribel had decided to downsize. The Lopez house isn’t currently all that big to begin with—not like it was when Julio Lopez’s doctor’s salary paid the mortgage—but for one person it seems massive. So Maribel found a small townhouse only a couple blocks from the hospital where she works, and quickly put a down payment on it and gave her notice to her current landlord. Which means the Lopez women are moving by the end of this month, and since Santana will be moving soon after, they figured it would be easier to just pack up stuff needed for university, stuff needed for the months until she moves to New York, and stuff she’ll leave at her mom’s for the time being.

It feels weird to be in Santana’s room with the walls bare and the mess usually covering the floor packed away, only a couple stacks of boxes indicating that a teenager had once lived in the room for almost six years. Even her dressers are empty, and all the clothes once hanging up in her closet are already folded and packed away, leaving whatever knickknacks have been thrown carelessly into Santana’s closet over the years the only sign that the space had ever been lived in.

The window is open and carries the smell of rain and dirt and growing things on a cool breeze, a far cry from the smell of manure as the farmers started fertilizing their fields last week. It makes the air feel fresh and new, especially in the usually cool dampness that hangs in the basement air of Santana’s room, with the sun just barely managing to shine through the clouds and down into the basement window, highlighting clouds of dust disturbed from their six year rest.

“Oh my god,” Santana suddenly laughs from the closet, startling Brittany into action, not realizing that she got lost in her thoughts while Santana started packing already, “Britt! You’ve gotta see this!”

Brittany grins as she heads for the closet, already excited for whatever’s making Santana’s voice raspy with amusement. Santana’s closet is a tiny walk-in, and she finds Santana on the floor with papers and pictures spread out around her. She shoves some things to the side to make a spot for Brittany as she tiptoes over everything and plops down beside her girlfriend, as carelessly graceful in her movements as she always is. 

“Look at this,” Santana says, shoving something at Brittany even before she’s settled.

Brittany chuckles at her girlfriend’s enthusiasm and takes the red construction paper from Santana, grinning as soon as she recognizes it; it’s a little frayed at the edges, having been held so often the paper’s softened, but the shakily drawn heart is untouched. Two messily drawn stick figure girls hold hands inside the heart, and below the drawing there’s nearly indecipherable writing that Brittany doesn’t even have to glance at to remember that it says _Lov B_. 

“You still have this?” she asks quietly, turning to give Santana an adoring look, feeling like she might melt right through the floor from the sweetness of it all.

“Of course, Britt-Britt,” Santana says, sweet and bashful and confident all at once, “It’s the first Valentine you ever gave me, and the first one I’d ever gotten. How could I get rid of it?”

Brittany shakes her head a little, unable to believe she’s lucky enough to call probably the awesomest and cutest and snarkiest and sweetest girl in the entire world hers. She quickly ducks forward to kiss Santana long and deep and adoring, something in her chest that might be her soul trembling with all the love she holds for the girl that holds her heart.

Santana is breathless and awed when she pulls back, a dreamy smile spread across her face that screams _I’ve just been kissed senseless_. “If that’s the reaction I get for that, wait until you see all the birthday cards I’ve kept too,” she says, both sweet and teasing all at once.

Brittany preemptively kisses Santana for all of those cards, and by the time they break apart, Brittany has to stand up and turn on the closet light because the sun is now more below the horizon than above it.

They start sorting through all the papers and pictures around them, tossing old school assignments into a discard pile and all the cards and drawings from Brittany—and ones from the munchkin too—into a keep pile. The loose pictures they find get piles of their own, so Santana can add them to one of her baby albums if she’s young enough in them, or so she can put them in one of her keepsake boxes her _abuela_ had gotten her when she was too young to really care about keepsakes.

In the pictures being added to her baby albums, Santana is mostly alone and hamming it up for the camera, something that Brittany lovingly teases her about; a lot of them feature Santana and her _abuela_ —the only grandparent she’s ever really had because her _abuelo_ died when she was too young to remember him, and because her mom’s parents died before she was born. Santana grows quiet as she studies them, staring at the smile lines deep set in her _abuela_ ’s face and trying to match them to the woman who disowned her; she finds she can’t do it. The _abuela_ who practically raised her while her parents worked crazy hours and the woman who left her crying at that kitchen table seem like two completely different people, the two versions of the same face completely irreconcilable in her mind.

Trying to meld them together does nothing but make her heart ache.

“You miss her,” Brittany says quietly, pressing forward to mould her back to Santana’s, dropping a lingering kiss to her shoulder before resting her chin on the same spot.

“More than anything,” Santana whispers. “Not the— I miss who she was before— Like when I was young. I miss the _abuela_ in my memories.” _I miss the woman who loved me_ , she doesn’t say, but Brittany hears it anyways.

“I’m sorry,” Brittany says and kisses the hinge of Santana’s jaw, knowing that sometimes people just need to know that you’re there because somethings can’t be fixed by flowery words and promises; not everything that needs to be fixed can be.

Santana swallows and stares at the pictures in her hands for a long moment, before putting them in the pile with the keepsakes. (Some of the pictures of Santana and her father end up in the discard pile, and neither of them made any comments about it, because what more is there to say about the man that he himself hasn’t already said in his absence and resistance to the woman his daughter was becoming?) 

Brittany grabs the next photo, giving Santana another moment to process her pain for two people who hadn’t died, but who might as well have from the amount of pain and grief they left scarred on her heart. Brittany smiles a little as she studies the picture; it’s of the glee club from sophomore year, all huddled around their Sectionals trophy, and she marvels a little at how young they all look. 

After a couple moments, Santana leans back into her to see the photo, falling back into the lighter mood that was in the air before looking through the pictures of her _abuela_. “Oh my god is that from Sectionals sophomore year?” Santana laughs, “We were such a hot mess back then.” She pauses for a moment before amending her statement, “I mean we still are.” Brittany giggles and tips the photo towards Santana so she can see better. “That was when Finn found out he was _not_ the baby daddy,” Santana booms in her most _Maury_ voice. Brittany’s laughter is muffled against Santana’s hair as she tries to hold the picture steady. “Mr. Schue wasn’t even there for the performance. Plus that was the whole setlist kerfuffle—”

“ _Kerfuffle_?” Brittany interrupts with a snort.

“Yeah, kerfuffle, you got a problem with that?” Santana asks in her Lima Heights voice. “I’ll take you down.”

Brittany laughs and tugs Santana back into her lap, wrapping herself around her girlfriend even tighter so she can’t escape. “My little badass,” she coos in Santana’s ear.

Santana tries to swat at Brittany but can’t twist in her embrace enough to manage it, so she just grumbles and sinks back into Brittany’s body. “That was also the week of the infamous party line,” she grins.

“Oh god,” Brittany groans, “That was so dumb. I can’t believe I just let it slip like that—”

Santana tips her head back to kiss Brittany, her lips landing more on Brittany’s chin than her mouth. “We were both holding so many secrets that something was bound to give,” Santana soothes easily. “I forgave you for that forever ago.”

“Really?” Brittany asks, kissing the side of Santana’s neck.

“Yeah, like an hour later,” Santana laughs as Brittany’s nose trails up the sensitive skin and makes her squirm away from the ticklish feeling. “I’ve always been really really bad at being mad at you.”

Brittany’s kisses turn into a smile against her neck as they turn their gazes back to the picture. “God what is Mercedes wearing?” Brittany giggles.

Santana squirms in her lap and stretches her arm towards the closet door. “Quick, pass me my phone, I gotta send her a picture of that atrocity.”

Brittany grins and uses her extra arm length to snag Santana’s phone from the floor, passing to her girlfriend and holding the photo steady so Santana can snap the picture and send it to Mercedes. Brittany reads Santana’s message over her shoulder and snorts as she hits send before tossing her phone on the floor. Brittany giggles as her eyes land on the other hilarious thing about the photo. “You know, Mercedes’ outfit may be an atrocity, but at least she’s not holding hands with Rachel.”

“What?” Santana cries, “No way!”

“Way,” Brittany snorts, pointing to the offending appendage. “Should I be worried?”

Santana chokes on her laugh and shakes her head. “Not a chance in hell. It was cause we were all excited.”

“She has her arm around you too,” Brittany adds idly.

“Oh shut it, you.” Santana takes the photo from Brittany and tosses it in the direction of her phone before turning around to straddle Brittany and prove exactly why Brittany doesn’t have to worry about Rachel Berry of all people.

Brittany’s breathless and laughing as she pulls away, trying to calm her pounding heart. “Okay, okay, I get it. No need to worry about Berry.”

“Good,” Santana says smugly, despite the fact that she’s just as breathless as Brittany, turning and sitting beside Brittany to resume sorting through papers and pictures. Her hand runs soothingly along Brittany’s thigh, and Brittany smiles a little as Santana’s touch starts to rub feeling back into the limb. As much as she loves to make out with Santana, sitting on the floor in her cramped closet does nothing to keep blood flowing in her legs when she has a lapful of her girlfriend. 

Santana tosses a bunch of assignments, along with a bunch of flyers and school newspapers she has for some reason, into the discard pile, adding some pictures to the keepsake pile and some to the baby album pile. Brittany mostly just looks over Santana’s shoulder and makes a running snarky commentary of everything.

The next picture that Santana grabs is of Brittany and Santana when they were about six, holding two cones of melting ice cream, their fingers sticky and Brittany’s cheeks and chin bright blue from her bright blue bubblegum flavoured ice cream. Santana grins and sinks back into her girlfriend, holding the picture up for Brittany to see better. They both have pigtails, because as soon as Santana saw that Brittany’s dad had done them, she demanded that he to do her hair too so they could match. Their heads are pressed together for the picture, Santana’s ice cream cone threatening to drip onto Brittany’s thigh, both of them beaming goofily at the camera. Santana’s nose is scrunched up under her children’s sunglasses and Brittany is squinting into the sun, a strip across her cheeks and nose bright red from where she missed rubbing sunscreen into her freckled skin.

“We’re cute,” Brittany says with a grin.

Santana hums in agreement, studying the carefree happiness in their laughing faces. It had taken them a long time to get back to that kind of easy kind of joy that kids always have, through a lot of pain that made it feel like they would never break free of the shadows, but eventually they did, and they’re both stronger than ever because of it, both individually and together.

“We should get this blown up and framed,” Santana suggests.

“Oh yeah?” Brittany asks, nuzzling closer to Santana and wrapping her free arm around her waist, scratching softly at the warm skin of Santana’s stomach where her shirt has ridden up.

“Yeah,” Santana says, a small smile playing at her lips as she tips her head back to meet Brittany’s gaze, her eyes glowing and loving. “We could hang it up beside that picture from grad or something.” It was both of their lockscreens at the moment so Brittany sees it multiple times a day, but the idea of hanging it on a wall of their _own_ place beside a picture form when they were kids—long before they could have ever known how much would change, long before they could have ever known how much would stay the exact same—makes something bright and warm spread through her chest, like the first sip of a hot drink after being outside in the snow all day.

“That sounds awesome,” Brittany whispers.

“Yeah?” Santana says, her smile slowly growing.

“The awesomest,” Brittany promises right before she kisses Santana.

* * *

Spring comes and goes in the quiet moments, with the melting snow freezing mud to the ground until the pale sun warms the earth and reveals all the footsteps of those who came before, with chirping songbirds drawing consciousness forth long before blaring alarms disturb tangled bodies, with clouds carrying warm rain descends on the earth in sunshine showers, with kisses that taste of sunlight and new beginnings and melting snow, with all the years that led to these moments and all the moments that will lead to the next ones, looking to the future with souls tangled so close they’re impossible to separate, if they were ever even separate to begin with.

It’s at the end of spring that Brittany kisses Santana.

* * *

_“You are my favourite._

_Close your eyes, and hear the smile in my voice._

_As if the lone cello of your presence is filling the empty theatre of my body,_

_Evicting the hollowness that once played in me like a Phantom with no obsession to make him whole._

_Thank you._

_You, are my favourite.”_

* * *

Spring comes and goes in the quiet moments.

It’s songbirds in the rain and steadily glowing love among new growth, carefree laughter that reminds them how their tangled roots lead them to these tangling branches. 

* * *

It’s at the end of spring that Brittany kisses Santana.

* * *

May comes and goes in the quiet moments.

It’s new life and warm rain, innately knowing that there’s always a hand to hold no matter how far life’s road winds away from the past.

* * *

April comes and goes in the quiet moments.

It’s colours blooming and songbirds chirping, the remembrance that a crown nestled against soft hair will never be half as important as waking up to _good morning_ kisses every day.

* * *

March comes and goes in the quiet moments.

It’s snow covered grass and the warming sun, the shining hope of fingers tangled against fingers that is needed to somehow face the cruel darkness until the sun rises again.

* * *

Spring is old memories hidden among sprouting flowers and old scars painted with soft green and blooming colour and love and love and love.

It’s kisses that taste of those that came before and all those that will come after, where souls shake and tremble as they melt into its mate, the mirrored image reflecting kids too young to know the kind of love they would find in the other, fading into the knowledge that it was there all along.

* * *

It’s at the start of spring that Santana kisses Brittany.

* * *

_“You are my favourite._

_It doesn’t sound like much,_

_To be put before photos of blob fish and videos of kittens discovering cactuses._

_But I put you before hand holding,_

_I put you before kisses._

_Before ‘I like you’ turned into ‘I love you,’_

_Before the moment I knew you loved me too._

_You are before everything in the long line of everything that brings me joy._

_You are first, you are water to my thirst._

_You are my favourite._

_Please, sit in my sky, and let me polish your shine.”_

* * *

_Spring Equinox lands on the first day of spring, or so Brittany tells her. Santana thinks that spring starts as soon as the snow melts, but Brittany says it has to do with the temperature and the stars and George’s calendar or something, Santana wasn’t really paying attention._

_Not that she’s been actively ignoring Brittany or anything—Brittany’s her best friend and basically the most interesting and funniest person in the entire world—but she’s just found Brittany really, really distracting lately. Like her eyes sparkle all different shades of blue and Santana kind of wants to count how many colours are hidden in there, and her hair somehow captures the pale spring sunlight and seems to glow with it, and her freckles are starting to reemerge after a long winter hiatus, and her lips always look so soft that Santana now has to constantly fight the urge to reach out and touch them._

_But it’s, like, so not a crush. Because she can’t have a crush on Brittany because Brittany’s_ Brittany _, or, at least that’s what she tries to remind herself when she finds herself daydreaming in class. Seventh grade isn’t hard or anything, and she’s turning thirteen in the fall and her mom is thinking about letting her get her second ear piercings, so she’s basically already too cool to pay attention to stuff like ecosystems and Alexander the Great and probability._

_Brittany already has her second piercings, which is about ninety percent of the reason Santana wants them. They really suite her, and not just because her last name’s Pierce like Brittany joked when she first got them. They make Brittany look a lot more mature, but she’s still Santana’s goofy and snarky best friend who would rather ride her bike to Santana’s house and watch cartoons than hang out with the boys who always comment on her piercings, which makes something Santana can’t identify warm and flutter in her chest. She thought it might be a heart attack at first, but Brittany said she gets the same feeling sometimes and figures it’s just from loving something too much._

_Santana loves Brittany more than anything in the entire world because she’s her best friend, but there are times that she starts to wonder, when the sun is coming up and songbirds are chirping outside her window, whether all best friends are supposed to make her feel like her insides are going to fly away if she gets too close to them._

_Brittany’s the only best friend she’s ever had, but it feels like something she can’t ask her about; and even if she could, she’s the only best friend Brittany’s ever had so she would probably be as confused about it as Santana._

_But it doesn’t stop her from smiling until her cheeks hurt whenever Brittany shows up at her house, her bike flopped carelessly in the Lopez front yard, and asks her to go hang out at the park; both of them usually end up begging her mom to let them go, and she always does with a small smile and shake of her head. If it’s Santana’s dad that’s home, which more often than not he isn’t—Santana worries it has something to do with the papers she saw her mom leaving on the desk in his study, but tries to ignore that thought—they usually just quietly sneak out and hope Santana’s mom isn’t too upset when they come back for supper. Santana’s dad doesn’t really like Brittany all that much, which makes no sense to Santana because Brittany is the best person in the whole world; especially because Santana’s mom adores Brittany and always invites her to stay for supper or sleepover if she wants._

_It’s one of those latter times when Brittany comes and begs Santana to go to the park with her on the Spring Equinox—something to do with how magical the day is because it’s as long as the night or something, Santana got a little distracted by watching Brittany’s mouth form the words of her sentence and only nodded absently in response. Since Santana’s mom is at work and her dad is at home, which is super weird because it’s like the middle of the day and he’s usually never home before eight in the evening, she quickly slips her sneakers on and quietly closes the door behind her._

_Despite the sun, there’s a chill to the air and she immediately shivers as she steps out onto the porch beside Brittany._

_Brittany grins jogs back over to her bike, reaching into the basket on the front and producing Santana with an extra sweater. “My Lady,” she drawls dramatically, bowing as she offers Santana the garment._

_Something hot and prickling floods Santana’s cheeks even as she rolls her eyes and shrugs the sweater on. “You’re such a goof, Britt-Britt,” she teases._

_Brittany beams and straightens her bike, slipping her helmet off and stowing it in the basket as they walk down the Lopez front walkway. Since they don’t want Santana’s dad to know they’re hanging out, they can’t get Santana’s bike out of the garage; they’re used to it though, and Santana walks on the grass lining the sidewalk so Brittany can wheel her bike beside her on the cement._

_They talk about nothing important as they head for the park a couple blocks away from Santana’s house, discussing their newest group project and how much they’re kind of glad Mercedes is in their group because she’s good at stuff like planning and organizing, even if they would never ever tell her that._

_Their favourite oak tree is free of families and kid, so they drop Brittany’s bike beside it and curl together against the trunk, keeping each other warm in the cool shadows. They’re too cool to play on the playground now, even if both of them still kind of miss it sometimes. Instead, they start up a game of Truth or Dare, going from the ridiculous to the mundane as they giggle in their own corner of the park, halfway hidden from the rest of the families and children lounging around the green space._

_“I dare you to do a handstand,” Brittany says with a small smile, knowing how awful Santana is at them. She can cartwheel and tumble almost as well as Brittany, but for some reason her body could never master handstands._

“ _That’s a boring dare,” Santana says, trying to goad Brittany into something that won’t end with her landing on her head._

_“Fine,” Britany pouts. She tips her head to the side, closing one eye in concentration, and glances around the park for inspiration. Her gaze lands on two high schoolers across the green space with their faces smushed together, and her eyes brighten (if there’s butterflies in her stomach, well, only Brittany needs to know about them)._

_“Kiss me.”_

_Santana’s mouth drops and her eyes go so wide it almost looks like they might fall out. It causes Brittany more than a little concern and she leans forward a little, their knee brushing where they’re sitting cross-legged. “I— Uh— What?” Santana stutters._

_Brittany is still concerned for Santana’s eyes but gives a half shrug. “I dare you to kiss me,” she elaborates. “You said doing handstand was a boring dare, so I dare you to kiss me. Bam, not boring.”_

_Santana studies Brittany for a long moment, searching for something without having any clue what it is. After a long moment of her body frozen in place and Brittany fidgeting beside her, Santana manages to get her mouth open, but what comes out is a croaking_ Okay _instead of a deflection like she intended._

_“Okay?” Brittany asks in surprise._

_Santana shrugs as her eyes drift down to watch Brittany’s lips curl and twist into words, wondering how they would feel against her own and feeling her cheeks burn hotly at the thought. “Sorry what?” Santana startles when a hand lands on her knee._

_“I said,” Brittany mumbles, “I’d rather you be my first kiss than some dumb boy anyways.”_

_Santana blinks, and then blinks again, her mind shutting down instead of processing Brittany’s words. “I— You— You haven’t kissed anybody?”_

_Brittany shakes her head. “Why, have you?”_

_“No,” Santana mumbles, “It’s just— I thought you had because you’re so prett—“ Her face burns like she sat too close to a campfire while roasting marshmallows. “Never mind.”_

_“Okay, so, the dare,” Brittany says slowly, chewing on her bottom lip so harshly that Santana wants to reach out and soothe the flesh with her thumb._

_“Uh-huh,” Santana nods breathlessly as they turn towards each other, both of their knees pressing together. The remain mostly hidden by the shadow’s of the oak tree, all the other park-goers so far away that their features are obscured into a blur of colour._

_“We just gotta—” Brittany motions vaguely towards Santana but doesn’t finish her thought._

_“If we—”_

_Brittany surges forward so quickly it startles Santana a little, and she gasps into Brittany’s mouth, their lips sliding together clumsily as they fumble to fit their noses against each other. Brittany’s lips are somehow even softer than Santana had imagined, her mouth languidand eager and warm. That warm, fluttering thing that always takes up residence in Santana’s chest when Brittany is around bursts into flight, and it feels a little bit like her heart might just pound out of her chest into Brittany’s lap. Brittany tastes a little bit like a blue raspberry freezy—her favourite thing to eat before going to the park—but somehow warmer and sweeter. Whenever Santana sighs out, Brittany breathes in, and it feels like she’s melting into her._

_Brittany’s nose brushes against hers as she pulls away. Santana’s hands have tangled together in her lap somewhere during the kiss, and Brittany’s eyes are wide and awed as they meet Santana’s, causing something deep in Santana’s chest to tremble violently._

_Santana swallows thickly, before a tiny smile stretches across her face. “I thought I was supposed to kiss you,” she says, a little surprised by how raspy her voice sounds._

_Brittany giggles and shrugs a little. “I got impatient, plus it was my dare so I make the rules.”_

_Santana sticks her tongue out at Brittany and shrieks with laughter with Brittany lunges forward and tackles her to the ground. She’s only a little disappointed when Brittany doesn’t kiss her again, but that thought is swept away as she squeals and tries to squirm away from Brittany’s tickling hands._

_“Stop!” she gasps around a laugh, “I take it back! I won’t do it again!”_

_Brittany’s giggling almost as hard as she is, doubled over with laughter until she collapses on the ground beside Santana, her hand still digging into Santana’s ribs until she manages to pin Brittany’s wandering hand to the ground._

_They’re breathless and bright, still trying to control their giggles as they lay under the old oak tree, Brittany propped up on her elbow and Santana on her back, reaching up to try and smooth staticky golden hair back into place._

_“You’re my best friend, you know that right?” Santana asks softly._

_Brittany’s smile scrunches her eyes more than spreads across her lips, the blue glowing and bright. “Yeah, you’re my best friend too. For, like, forever and ever.”_

_Santana’s smile turns a little shy, her eyes dark and her cheeks hot, breathless and bright. She releases Brittany’s pinned hand only to hold up her own, fingers all curled into her palm except for one. “Pinky promise?” she asks nervously._

_Brittany’s smile softens even more and doesn’t hesitate to wrap her pinky around Santana’s. “Pinky promise,” she whispers. The shadows of the oak tree make it seem like they’re the only two people in the whole world, the shouting and laughter from the park fading away in their own little bright bubble. Brittany’s stomach is all jittery and fluttery, like she just did a bunch of cartwheels in a row, like someone spun her too fast on the tire-swing, like she can still feel Santana’s lips against her own, like she’s only grounded to the earth by Santana’s bright eyes on hers and their pinkies intertwined and Santana’s heart curled around her own._

_Because Brittany understands things like limits and forever and infinity, and infinity, and infinity—_

* * *

It’s on the first day of spring that Brittany dares Santana to kiss her for the first time.

It’s on the first day of spring that Santana kisses Brittany for the first time.

* * *

It’s at the end of spring that they both kiss their future; not for the first time, and certainly not for the last.

 

**Author's Note:**

> And proceed to s5's Brittanacedes mall tour in about 2-3 years.
> 
> This series is what started me writing again after some rough personal things and it's so bittersweet to see it come to an end, but I'm also really excited to move onto other fics. I was re-reading the first parts of this series as I was writing this final part, and it's insane to really see how far my writing has come since then, so here's to the end of over a year of my writing and to the start of new projects!!


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